The Unbreakables
by xx.Scarlett
Summary: All her life, Aspen Marx dreamed of the day where she was old enough to compete for Prince Cameron's heart in Illéa's fourteenth Selection. But Prince Cameron, and the rest of the royals, may not be what they seem. And with a dangerous war brewing, Aspen becomes uncertain whether she -or her heart- will make it out in one piece. SYOC closed! {35/35}
1. Impossibility

"Popcorn?" Blanca offered, holding a cobalt plastic bowl out for me. She was being nice, even more so than expected. Yes, newly engaged to Rowan Christian (who no one besides Blanca could stand), my only older sister had been in mysteriously high spirits for the past four days. And I suppose that I knew her engagement would result in an overall mood shift, but I wasn't expecting anything so drastic…

"Lightly sea salted, no butter?" I clarified, wanting to be sure before I took any.

Blanca gave me a look. "Freak. It's regular popcorn." _Ah. She's back._ She took the bowl back on her lap, refocusing her attention on this Friday's _Report_. I did the same.

I had seen so many _Reports_ in my lifetime that I had memorized the routine. At five o'clock sharp, Brenan Gavin would warm up the audience a bit, and get you excited about practically nothing. At five oh five, King Adrian spoke briefly about the progression of the war between India and Italy, and he reminded us again how we were staying out of it for the time being, but we'd loyally come to our ally's defense, should we find a substantial reason. We were at risk of a nuclear holocaust. Everyone knew that, he didn't have to say it. Allies to both sides were rallying quicker than that of a normal war, and half of modern Europe and part of Southwestern Asia were already involved. The big powers, such as Illéa, New Asia, and the Advanced Republic of Africa had yet to involve themselves, but it was only a matter of time. The King's war-talk seemed to be a perfect bridging point for the advisors to come up, at five-twenty, to ask for donations in crops, goods, and money for the troops, and they would try again to encourage volunteers for the army, just in case, so we wouldn't have to employ a draft, should we involve ourselves in the war. At five-forty five, Queen Nadia spoke of her yearly philanthropic project that she had been working on (this year, it was improving the foster care and adoption system and its facilities). Then, with a flip of her effortless golden hair, the queen would take her seat and Brenan would reemerge to close the program by six o'clock.

And all the while, I wouldn't pay much attention at all. I could catch every word they said in the newspaper the next morning, while it's still too early for the regulars to be getting their chai tea lattes and fresh lemon-blackberry scones at Café Impresso, and only a few businessmen would come: those who had to travel outside Waverly for office work and conferences, stopping by for a pick-me-up coffee. No, my attention was acutely turned to Crown Prince Cameron Havillard. Never once, since I first noticed one _Report_ when I was seven, had I seen Prince Cameron smile. He was ever stoic, and he never appeared to have a reason to be happy (I mean, most of what was said on the weekly _Capital Report_ was pretty melancholy, but he didn't even smile for show). He looked disappointed. I'd bet that he'd already memorized the exact pattern of the _Report_ too, that none of the information would be new to him, so it'd be like having to hear it twice, and he'd have a constant, off-putting feeling of de ja vu. He always seemed so bored, so unpleased, his thin lips stuck in their frustrated, permanent line.

I was going to make him smile.

I had decided that a very long time ago: ever since I first noticed that he refused to show so much as a grin _ever_. And little, I-have-absolutely-nothing-to-be-sad-about-and-I'm-not-sure-why-anyone-else-does Aspen decided that she had to fix that. That was the first time I ever went to the library. When I was brainstorming my plan to make Prince Stoic Steve smile, I found my answer: books, which is why I walked myself to the library after a half an hour of making sure that I had everything, from my white rain coat (in case it rained, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky) to gym shoes to the plastic knife in my pocketbook and all fifteen of my dollars, just in case. It was easy to find what I was looking for (along with a million other kiddie-novels to read with my dad that night), but after the librarian told me that I could only check out two, I took another ten minutes deciding which books I'd have to sacrifice, which ended up being the joke books I had so carefully selected for Prince Cameron (I had already memorized a couple good ones I could use, so it turned out ok), and strutted home confidently with Charlotte's Web and The Ringing Faye. I silently prayed that he'd understand.

But I was going to do it. I was going to break though his unbreakable shell and we'd be happy. He'd love me. He'd be everything I ever imagined.

And it seems my opportunity had been signed, sealed, and delivered right to my doorstep.

Queen Nadia had already finished her speech and it was only five-forty five. My stomach tumbled, almost _sure_ of what was going to happen now. Prince Cameron had turned nineteen on September the eighth, five days before today, and just two and a half months before me. It was time. My opportunity _finally_ came.

Brenan took the microphone from Queen Nadia, as apologetic as she was excited. I held my breath, knowing exactly what he would say. Just as I knew what Queen Nadia would say, and King Adrian, and the advisors. It was like intuition, I _knew_.

"Now lets be real a second," Brenan begins, his dark eyes glinting. "A king would be nothing without his queen. We all know it-sorry King Adrian." The king waved his hand dismissively, turning to smile lovingly at his wife. _That could be us._ I thought, smiling dreamily to myself. _Me and Cameron. That could be us one day_. "And with our _dashing_ Crown Prince Cameron only two short years of assuming the throne and becoming the king himself, he's going to need his own queen. And he wants someone with heart, ladies, not just some foreign Duchess to improve connections. As per tradition, the king and queen have agreed to host thirty five Illéan young ladies at the palace for our nation's fourteenth Selection!" He waits as those on stage applaud, for dramatic effect. "Applications have already been sent out, and should reach every eligible girl in the next one to three days. Applying is not mandatory, but anyone who wouldn't want to marry this guy is a fool, as our beloved king and queen have raised him to be the strong, responsible man who we can trust our country with in no more than two years, as he becomes a legal adult. We have all the faith in the world he'll make a great king one day, and our country needs a great queen to stand by his side." I look back to Cameron, who's face still hasn't budged. If he's excited about his upcoming Selection, he doesn't let on. But that could easily be a cover. If he seems icy to the public, they have no reason to diminish him in silly tabloids. I wait for Brenan to move the mic over to him, but he never does. "Alright, that's all for this evening. Join us next Friday for your next _Illéan Capital Report!_ " The camera shuts off, leaving us back to our regularly scheduled programming.

"I can enter the Selection, right mom?" My youngest sister, Chandler, asks, her smug smirk directed at me. She knew how badly I wanted this. It wasn't such a secret that Chandler didn't like me, if only because Blanca didn't like me either, and she was dead set on being exactly like Blanca.

"Not this one." My mother sighed. Chandler grin dissipated. "You're only fifteen, Chandler. The cut off is sixteen. You'll be able to enter Prince Mason's Selection, next year. And even Prince Connor's Selection in four years. Just not Prince Cameron." She rubbed my sister's arm as she growled. "Aspen and Persephone, however, are free to enter, if they'd like."

"I might," Persephone laments, fiddling idly with her thick, dark chestnut hair. "I'll think about it, I guess."

I stare at my fingers, which I realize I should paint for my picture, when I send in my application. I'm not sure if you see something like hands in your Application Picture, but it wasn't worth the risk.

"Aspen, love?" My father asks, hoping to catch my attention. As if he didn't know that I had listened to every word, even if I pretended not to care. "Do you think you'll enter?"

"Oh. I don't know." I say casually, trying not to show my bubbling excitement. _Blush. I should paint my nails blush._ "I think so. Maybe."

"Alright, honey." He says, sending me an encouraging smile. "We'll support you, whatever your choice is." That's the signal. The conversation is pretty much over.

Chandler stalks off to the room she shares with Persephone (even though she'd love to trade for mine with Blanca, when she still lived with us, but my parents didn't let her), and one by one, the rest of us get up to follow. Nate, my oldest brother Declan's six-month-old son, has slept though the _Report_ and gets up to let out a sob. Ella, his mother, quickly apologizes, saying that her and Declan should leave soon, if they want Nate to sleep through the night. My mother sees them to the door, and Blanca announces that her and Rowan should probably be leaving too, which is Persephone's cue to take her Aspirin and grab headphones, hoping to drown out the constant noise coming out of Chandler's phone when she thinks we're fast asleep and unable to hear her. When it's only me and my dad left in the Family Room, he makes a quick motion for me to stay as he jogs to the kitchen.

He comes back bearing a book.

"The Beautiful and the Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald." He grins, proud of his finding, as he hands the book to me. I can't even contain my awe, and let my mouth part to let out a gasp. "I found it at that vintage bookstore you asked me to check out. Great find by the way, Aspen. That place is _incredible_! One of a kinds like these sold at fifteen per paperback! I mean, how often have you seen Fitzgerald in the Library?"

"I don't think I even have… Oh my God, Dad, this is incredible!" I stammered, a whole new kind of excitement filling my insides. Nearly a hundred and fifty years ago, with the reign of King Maxon and Queen America, a new era of resurfaced technology and previously banned books came about. After our former continent of North America became Illéa, a huge mass of culture was discreetly wiped out so as to turn us into practically a fascist nation. But after the rediscovery of computers, mobile phones, and some of the most revered literary examples (books, plays, folios, poems, etc), the world was finally able to progress in medicine, public relations, and global understanding. Copies of classics like Fitzgerald were practically one of a kind.

"You can read it until Wednesday, I'm taking it on my conference in Yukon." My dad allows. I turn through the pages greedily, careful not to damage to already worn spine.

"Please, you know I'll have it finished by dinner tomorrow, Sunday if I'm busy." My dad smiles.

"Enjoy it, love." He gives me a kiss on my forehead and stretches on the way to his bedroom.

Stifling a yawn, I traipse down the hallway and throw my brown tresses, unbrushed, into a ponytail to keep them out of my face. Curling into my covers, I open the book a crack and begin to read. No matter how tired I am, it's a facilitated habit that I can't fall asleep until fifteen minutes minimum of recreational reading. My dad used to read to me every night when I was a child, and I'd often force myself to stay awake so that I could have alone time with just him. Growing up with five siblings, minutes like those would be found far and few between. But now, I find it an unbreakable habit, but that's alright. It brings me closer to my father.

 _In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!"— yet at the brink of this story he has as yet gone no further than the conscious stage…_

I can't concentrate. No matter how hard I try. After four futile chapters, I force myself to bookmark the page and shut out the light.

All I can think about is the Selection.

The dresses. The lifelong friendships. The romance. The drama. The television spots. The makeovers. The possibility of meeting the Royal Court and becoming part of a family so beloved by their nation that the rebellion has near dissipated and been replaced with undying loyalty.

The smile. The smile that I would be the cause of, that I could do the impossible.

The Selection practically thrived on impossibilities.

The impossibility that you get to be the one girl out of millions in your province, all of them equally deserving, to come to the palace and find true love.

The impossibility of reinventing yourself, of becoming desirable to the one person to fall in love.

The impossibility of making the unbreakable Prince Cameron smile.

But impossibility in itself leaves room for daring and chance, it makes way for all that you could possibly dream.

If you cower to the idea of impossibility, you'll never see that it's all overridden by chance.

 **Hey guys! Glad you could get this far ;) (please read the rules because any violation of them would lead to a complete waste of time, so just read them for your own sake)**

 **CLARIFICATION: I'm not exactly sure how this story will be written. It will most likely be mainly from Aspen's POV (like how the original Selection novels were only from America's), but I might have occasional POVs from royals or even the other Selected! I really hope that my having a character in my story doesn't deter you from submitting, because she might not necessarily win at all.**

 **I'm aiming for around five main characters besides Aspen, as supposed to the usual 8-10. There will still be the standard 10 Elite, however, and if I think girls are deserving of a main status, I will let them be a main, regardless of how many I already have.**

 **Please submit using the exact form below. Fill out every portion that does not say optional. If you have anything else to say about your character, that's what the Anything Else section is for.**

 **Illéa's fourteenth Selection will soon commence! I'm sure you guys know how the competition works, but** **here is my OWN set of rules for this contest (strictly about the Application you send in)**

 **My first rule is going to be this: I'd GREATLY PREFER you avoid cliché occupations, if possible (for twos: actress, model; for threes: teacher, writer; for fours: farmer, jeweler, baker; for sixes: maid [Yes, fives and sevens are not on this list because jobs for them are more similar and/or limited, so any occupation is acceptable]). My dear friend 4Love4Love4 created an** _ **amazing**_ **PowerPoint that has a complete list of jobs, and many are very creative. Most I've never seen done before. Try to think outside the box in terms of jobs!**

 **If you choose to disobey rule one, you'd better have a DARN GOOD REASON to why this occupation fits your character and how it dictates their lifestyle. This had better be IMPORTANT if you're going to stick with a cliché. I will accept these jobs IF it has an AMAZING backstory to it, where this job is absolutely necessary to who the character is as a whole**

 **There will be no ones or eights in this competition.**

 **I've seen some really WEIRD names used in SYOCs, and also really ORDINARY. Don't give me Yolandita, but don't give me Jane. I guess, give me any name, but I might have you change it. If there's a certain reason for this name, please specify.**

 **My application is long enough to where there is no acceptable reason why your character is one PM. You should aim for three-four, and two BARE MINIMUM. I've sent in apps that were 11 PMs before, I think you can manage three. If your application is one PM you're doing something wrong, it's not physically possible I don't think…**

 **Obviously the more creative (without being TOO weird) the character is, the more chance there is she'll be Selected and/or a main character. Especially the main character thing.**

 **I'm expecting the creators of the main characters I select to give me an update every few chapters on how I'm portraying their character. I know that I can always improve, so reviews are much appreciated. I'd expect myself to have my "regulars", as many other SYOC stories have, but reviews are constant reinforcements that I feel like I sometimes need to get myself to write. It's like an incentive. If you like what you read, please tell me! And if it's trash, tell me! (obviously don't say it like that, but I accept any constructive criticism)**

 **All supporting and main characters must be submitted by PM. If you're sending in a character via review, they're guaranteed minor, if they're Selected in the first place. I'm VERY particular about this, as I need to regularly get in touch with the author and don't want forms to be public, so I can include details at my own pace.**

 **I always encourage ethnic diversity! I would like to strive for at LEAST two black girls, Latina girls, New Asian girls, and Indian girls in this story. That doesn't sound like much at all, and yet I've never seen an SYOC with the minimum of these quantities…**

 **Please, no girls with hetrochromia or albinos or anything unless you have a SPECIFIC face claim that I can use. Also, try not to use generic or overly-popular face claims (also, see my Pinterest board and profile for a list of taken face claims), and make them age appropriate! Not to sound discriminatory, but they SHOULD be pretty, because the Selection is NOT exactly a lottery… UNIQUE looking is fine, but they have to be at least SOMEWHAT visually appealing.**

 **For organizations sake, PLEASE send in your character with the PM titled with your character's first and last name. I'm SUPER OCD about this and hate hunting for forms that aren't labeled correctly! If they go by a nickname, please put that in parenthesis between their first and last name (for example: Magdalena "Lena" Haloway, if we were reading Delirium)**

 **Don't make carbon copies of America, Eadlyn, or Aspen. I feel like that should go without saying.**

 **OK HERE'S THE FORM I SINCERELY HOPE THAT I DIDN'T SCARE YOU GUYS AWAY!**

Full Name:

Nicknames (liked/disliked. Any and all):

Age:

Birthday:

Caste:

Occupation (check 4Lov4Love4's pp., and try to steer clear of cliché jobs please!):

Reason They Chose Their Occupation:

Province of Choice (If there's an important reason please specify):

Celebrity Look Alike:

Hair:

Eyes:

Skin Tone:

Height/Weight/Build:

Other Facial Features:

Style Before Selection (can be brief):

Makeover Changes:

Signature Scent (Link to List On My Profile):

Selection Style (Casual, Formal, Jewels, Hairstyles, Makeup, Etc.):

Personality:

Quirks/Character Facts (as many as possible, please):

History/Background:

Health Concerns (even if small):

Languages Spoken:

Likes/Hobbies/Talents:

Dislikes/Weak Areas:

Family (Name, Age, Job, Personality, Appearance, Relationship w/Character):

Pets?:

Best Friends (Name, Age, Caste/Job, Personality, Appearance, Enter the Selection?):

Past Relationships (Name, Age, Caste/Job, Personality, Appearance, Current Relationship w/Character, if any):

What They're Looking For in a Friendship:

How They'd Get Along W/Selected Already Mentioned (optional):

Maids (three: Name, Age, a bit on Personality and Appearance):

How They'd Treat The Maids:

Thoughts About Prince Cameron) (NOTE: Aspen has very acute senses and has spent several years fawning over the Prince. Not everyone's going to notice that he never smiles):

Ideal First Date:

Reason for Entering:

Important Personal Items:

Theme Song:

Anything Else:

 **Thanks! Hope you guys submit!**


	2. Lead the Way

Brenan didn't lie. My application came exactly three days after Friday's _Report_ , and I decided immediately that I wasn't going to let it out of my sight. I almost had Cooper, my older brother, hide it for me, but I decided that the only way I could make sure it was safe was to hold onto it myself. It functioned as a bookmark until I could fill it out with Blaire, by best friend, as we'd get ready for our Application photos together (painted nails and all) after work.

The Beautiful and the Damned, by the way. Now _that_ was a great book. The English was hard to follow at times. But it was really good.

There isn't typically too much going on at Café Impresso; being there makes you feel like you're living in slow motion. Though we were open for nine hours (from seven to four on business days), it felt like all day could be wasted at the café. Maybe that was why I liked it.

Sunlight streamed through windows covering the majority of the walls from floor to ceiling, and little rainbows bounced off of the faux-crystal counters, stationary tables, and serving stations. The entire café smelled of brewing chamomile, lemon-raspberry scones, and camellias. My own personal heaven.

My parents used to take me to Café Impresso on the morning of my birthday every year. They each had a cup of coffee, and let me order whatever I wanted (which, every time without fail would be the peach cobbler, which was baked to order, topped with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream). It was what made my birthday so much more special every year: not expensive gifts or getting my own party, but having an hour and a half of attention from my parents. Growing up as one of six children, these seconds of individualized attention were seconds fused from gold. That was why, when I was looking for a job, I was drawn here: I always remembered the café being a happy place, where I got peach cobbler and ice cream, and what's not fun about that? Actually, though, I love my job at Impresso, as it's a very relaxed environment where I don't really feel stressed, and it pays well (there was a reason that I was only allowed to come here for my birthday…). And if I plan to get into college by my early twenties, a good salary wasn't optional.

"Aspen, could you take orders?" Mona, one of the waitresses the café has amongst their staff, asks me. I take a deep breath and nod, braving table after table of young adult women and who I can only assume to be their mothers. It's only been four days since the announcement, and the very first forms in Waverly were brought here yesterday, but it's easy to predict exactly how the Selection will affect the sales at Café Impresso. They've already skyrocketed, and by this point, at three in the afternoon, we had made almost double the combined money we made on Monday _and_ Tuesday. I guess it pays to be located a block away from the Waverly Service Office…

"I'll take a coffee, two creams and one sugar. If you have any of your Oregano Pasta, I'd love some of that-"

"I still have an hour before I get off." I smile as my best friend moves the menu from in front of her face.

"Hmmmm, too bad." Blaire interrupts. "That line is _ridiculous_ , and we have to get ready so we can submit our forms before it gets dark and they shut down!"

I shake my head with a smile. "Fine. You're right. I'll see if I can get off early."

"And if you could get my coffee too-"

"Nope. No time for coffee. We have an obnoxiously long line to wait in"

…

"I've always enjoyed coming to your house to Persephone's shower singing." Blaire begins as we step through the front door.

"Screeching" I correct.

Blaire laughs. "Right, right."

We sneak up the stairs, careful not to disturb Persephone's choruses of "Rundown" by Oliviander. Shamefully, I have to stop and brace the wall in attempts to steady myself before I collapse in hysterics, but Blaire pulls me along until we're in my room. With the door sealed tight, I let out a breath of relief and collapse against the bed, letting the comforters absorb my figure and leave an imprint.

But we waste no time.

Blaire ripped open my makeup drawer and began to apply eyeliner and mascara (as clearly she was confident enough with her own makeup application abilities) while I floated to my closet to find clothes. The tank top I was currently wearing was made sticky with the honey I tried to glob into someone's drink, and all in all, I was never going to get accepted in the state of disarray I looked to be.

"Is your white romper in the wash?" Blaire asked absentmindedly, not breaking eye contact with the mirror.

"Ooh, mine! You can't steal that one!" I can see my friend's pout from the mirror. I raced into Chandler's room (even though I knew she'd kill me if she knew that I was in there) to steal my favorite romper back, only to find a silver barbed tassel necklace and decide that she probably wont miss it. After pulling a few more things from my closet (a navy and white stitched drape sweater and knee length gladiators) as I wander back to my own room, I change and find myself standing next to Blaire. Her mouth drops.

"Your wardrobe is so much _better_ than mine…" She whines, taking me in. "I'm serious, that was the _perfect_ outfit, you look stunning! No one's gonna stand a chance now."

I bow mockingly, trying to shrug off her compliment. "Do my hair?"

"Of course, milady!" Blaire chuckles and shoves off of the white wood vanity seat. After brushing through my chocolate tresses, she Dutch-Fishtail braids my hair in the back and moves it to my left shoulder, tying it off at the bottom. After pulling the braid apart to make it appear thicker, she pronounces me finished and gets to work on my makeup, which she knows will be better if someone other than myself does it. It wasn't like I _couldn't_ apply makeup or anything. I wore it almost every day. But I would always be _better_ if I had an older sister who would teach me, like the way Blaire's older sister, Eilley, did when she was too young to even wear it. Blaire gives my skin some color with bronzer and tinted moisturizer before applying the rest: black eyeliner, mascara, and brick red matte lipstick. She gives me and ok before swiping on a final sheen of bright red gloss on her own lips and pulling my hand down to the kitchen.

I remove my book from the coffee table in the Family Room to pull out my form and favorite black pen, and she does the same from her bag. I no longer bat an eyelash that the only utensil Blaire will write in is a purple ballpoint she needs a replacement of every other month.

Blaire and I situate ourselves around my kitchen's island, both ignoring the half-empty glass of milk that Cooper never finished this morning, and all of the papers concerning my dad's upcoming trip to Yukon, which lay scattered across the granite tabletop. No, this needed our undivided attention, no matter how messy…

Nope. I lied. I couldn't concentrate with the kitchen looking like that.

I quickly remove the glass and wipe down the ring it left on the counter, and straiten up the papers. I'm about to grab the counter-cleaner spray when Blaire yells at me to sit down and concentrate.

 _There. That's better._

Now ready to focus, I uncap my pen and examine the parts to form. They're all basic things that are hard to mess up on or impress with, which makes me a bit suspicious.

 _Name:_ Aspen Noelle Marx

 _Age:_ 18

 _Province:_ Waverly

 _Caste:_ Four

 _Occupation:_ Barista at Café Impresso in Central Waverly

 _Hair Color:_ Dark chestnut brown, without the auburn undertones

 _Eye Color:_ Dark chocolate brown

 _Skin Tone:_ Olive

 _Height:_ 5 feet 7 inches

 _Weight:_ 122 pounds

 _Languages Spoken:_ English, Italian, and Bulgarian

 _Hobbies:_ Reading, tennis, running, learning, calligraphy, travelling

 _Finished; that wasn't so bad._

"Ooh! Show me your form, Aspen." Blaire demands, after realizing that every portion on her own application was filled out. I sheepishly hand it over as she presents me hers.

"Blaire, have you-"

"Hey! You've never even been out of the province before! You can't say that you like travelling when you never have!"

"Have you ever been skiing? And I've never seen your paintings before. You _hate_ math! Plus, you can't speak Mandarin! Why did you put all of this stuff down?"

"Hey! Every actress bolsters their resume." She proclaims proudly.

I can't help but smile at her. "Fine. Then I get travelling. Remember when I went to Fennley to see my mom's family?"

"Oh right, right. I remember. Sorry!" I nod my head to tell her that its fine, but her attention is already averted.

"Oh my god. It's already five? We have like, no time! We have to go, like, right now!" Blaire tugs me on my wrist again, pulling me out of my house and leading me to my destiny.

 **Yeah. That whole chapter was kind of weak. And short. I'm genuinely sorry for that. It didn't turn out quite as I hoped it would.**

 **Anyways, we have our first two submissions! Thank you so much to Happygreenbirdy and 4Love4Love4 for their amazing forms! Continue to send in forms, guys, we still have a LOT of room left to fill!**

 **Drop a review, also! I didn't actually get any on my first chapter, but I'd really appreciate feedback!**


	3. Everything Will Be Alright

Chandler got asked out almost a week after the Selection was announced. I thought that maybe the poor guy might have been confused, that Chandler was a crush or something that he didn't want to loose to the Selection. She, of course, insisted that it was for all of the reasons that Blanca got engaged: people were attracted to the best, and that was that. I think she also made a snide remark about how that was why I hadn't been asked out since I was her age. Honestly, I can't bring myself to care. Even though the last time I was asked out was when I was already older than her, so she's wrong.

Weeks could not press by soon enough. It's been only seven days since the Selection had been announced, three since I handed in my application, and about fifteen seconds since I had last looked at the clock, daring the small hand to fall on twelve so that the _Report_ could start.

I look up from my book. Still four fifty-two. _Damn._

I've been sitting here since I got home from work at four. It was a miserable not-even hour.

Persephone's gone, as well. The Service Office would close an hour early today, in lieu of each _Report_ segment being mandatory. My parents encouraged her to leave a few hours ago, and she's still not back yet. I'm still a bit queasy from her decision to enter. At the very least it set me on edge.

 _Four fifty-three._

I count twenty-six seconds before Persephone burst back through the door. She's wearing a white crop top with pink and blue flowers, and her favorite jean shorts. Her hair is twisted up and she's wearing _makeup_. I can't help but gulp, now aware that she wants this. My sister, who's just as pretty, has a better job, and has the more contagious personality. Who had her first kiss before any of the rest of us in relation to age. I'm doomed.

I try to read, but cant concentrate. Every tick of the clock seems obscenely magnified, and all other noise becomes mum in the background. Eventually, my right ear starts to ring and my breathing pace –along with my heart rate- begins to quickly increase. All I can think about is the notion of Persephone and Prince Cameron. And I think it's driving me mad.

My racing mind is distilled by the sound of the TV flipping on automatically. I glance up at the clock again to find that it's already five oh one. They're a minute late.

This time, I manage to _concentrate_.

"Good evening everyone and welcome to this week's _Illéa Capital Report!_ " There's a polite spatter of applause and I'm suddenly aware that my family (besides Declan and Blanca, who are watching from their own homes tonight) has positioned themselves around the Family Room. _When did they get there..?_ "Tonight, before our regularly scheduled announcements, we'd like to welcome our Crown Prince Cameron Havillard to the stage for an exclusive interview!" There. I'm perked up immediately.

Prince Cameron's grimace isn't something that I ignore. But instead of it taking up my concentration, I allow myself to listen to the way he acknowledges Brenan, and how his voice sounds like sneakers shuffling on gravel. The way his nose looks like it's made of bone, and his sharp jaw line is clean-shaven. You can't tell the color of his eyes with the lighting, as his thick, dark eyebrows overshadow them, but I know that they're the color of sage leaves and amethyst. I notice strong arms from under his suit, as he shakes hands with his interviewer. And something on my insides melts just a little, knowing that if he could only smile –if I could only make him smile- he'd have officially been the most attractive person I'd ever met. And in less than a month, I have even the slightest _chance_ to make him a physical part of my life, not just the figment I imagined him.

It's not a secret that the Selection isn't a game of mere chance. You won't get chosen by _luck_ , you'd be chosen because of your form and application picture. And that's the only thing that gives me hope. I know that I'm pretty, and it would be stupid to fake naïveness and say that I'm not. In my mind, there's no logical reason that knowing your own worth is considered undesirable, and yet my mom always told me to be modest and taught me to politely refuse compliments. Like I'm not supposed to know that I'm attractive. Which is really stupid, if you think about it. But if the likelihood of me getting in is anything like what rumors told me, I had at least a semi-decent chance.

"Prince Cameron, what are your feelings about your upcoming Selection?" Brenan demanded, the two of them sitting in the white bubble chairs laid out for interviewing, a mic for each.

Prince Cameron takes a breath, like a pause so that he could choose his words carefully. "Probably mostly anxious." He retorts.

"Anxious-dreading or anxious-excited?"

Another thinking breath. "Probably a little bit of both." Prince Cameron confesses. "See, I have no doubt that this will be a very good thing for me and for the country. But at the same time, the prospect of having to share a piece of myself with thirty five completely new women is enough to make anyone a little nervous."

Brenan laughs, as if Prince Cameron just told a very funny joke. Which I find a bit insensitive, because he has every right to be nervous. "I'm sure it will all work itself out in good time."

"I agree."

"So tell us, how are preparations coming for welcoming the thirty five currently undetermined guests?" Brenan inquires. "I know that we've got plenty of applicants already, but make sure you send in your forms by next week!" I belatedly realize that that last bit was directed at the audience.

"Well, everything's been a bit chaotic." Prince Cameron brings us back to the point. "We've already had each of the thirty-five rooms already refurbished, and at this point, the main concern is getting the paint to dry so we can start taking the covers off of the furniture and polishing everything else up. The girls, of course, will have the opportunity to make any revisions to their rooms, but everything looks pretty nice so far. There's a lot of food tasting and maid-checking and it's been a bit irrelevant, really, but we're getting through it."

"And how do you think the prospect of becoming engaged in the war will affect the Selection?"

"I think that, at this point, it will have no affect. We're remaining neutral for the time being, as I'm sure that my father will tell you again later, and so for now we're safe. However, we're adding extra precautions that I'm afraid that I'm not at the liberty of disclosing to the public. I think that everyone will remain safe, and that the Selection should be able to run its course naturally."

"Thank god for us all!" Brenan laughs in relief. But there's not so much as a grin from Prince Cameron. "Well, it was really nice to get to talk with you, Prince Cameron. I wish you all of the best in the next coming weeks."

Prince Cameron shakes Brenan's hand again and retreats back to his seat next to his younger brother. Prince Mason whispers something to his brother without breaking his view of the back of Brenan's head, and Prince Cameron nods at whatever it is.

Brenan takes back the controls on the _Report_ , and I assume that everything will be a bit quicker, now that it's already five twenty-one. At this point, I tune back out. I don't particularly care for war talks. No need to be scared if there's nothing wrong, as Prince Cameron seemed to think.

And if Prince Cameron thought that everything would be alright, then everything would be alright.

 **Alright. Well, Brenan Gavin lied because we really haven't got plenty of applicants already. In fact, I currently only have three. Thank you to Happygreenbirdy, 4Love4Love4, and jenhen48 for being our current only submitters. I know that there are a few people who have reserved provinces or have promised me forms, but the point is that I don't have them. Guys, I'm a little nervous. Because I don't have almost any reviews either. I would also like to clarify that it wasn't me who reviewed on my own chapter. My friend *cough* 4Love4Love4** ***cough* was logged into my account so that she could read a form, and forgot to log out… So that was not me.**

 **Guys, please please review. I'd really REALLY like some feedback, and it hurts a little that most of you don't care enough to take two minutes and say something about what I'm writing. It makes me feel like that I'm speaking to an empty room. At this point, I have no idea whether I'm spinning pure trash or this is actually something that I should invest time into.**

 **Speaking of which, THANK YOU to UltimateMaxmericaShipper for such a long review! You have no idea how much it really meant to me, so thanks!**

 **In other news, I've decided to give some introductions to the few other Apps that I've gotten. Also, tell me if you guys would be interested in hearing from the royals!**

 **So, yeah. That's all I have to say. Review and submit and all that stuff, bye!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	4. We All Go a Little Mad

**Hey everyone! Sorry for taking so long, I had sleepaway cam like two days after I posted my last chapter and I just got home a few hours ago, so I busted this out for ya! Hope you enjoy.**

 **I just want to say a quick thanks to** SelectionRoyalty13, Cookiedoodles168, Happygreenbirdy, Awkward Kartoffel, MastaGamerita, IllusionistDream, Booki (guest), XOStarbrightXO, **and** Monotonic Rainbow **for reviewing,** JenHen48, UltimateMaxmericaShipper, rysaspirit, Monotonic Rainbow, IllusionistDream, Awkward Kartoffel, CarrieReeRay, Hofund, alexiaroosenhaan, The Pocketwatch Ripper, **and** XOStarbrightXO **for submitting,** 4Love4Love4, GalifreyanCat, Happygreenbirdy, IllusionistDream, alexiaroosenhaan, anaklusmos26, **and** rysaspirit **for favoriting (not** _ **technically**_ **a word, I know), and** 4Love4Love4, Awkward Kartoffel, CarrieReeRay, Happygreenbirdy, IllusionistDream, Jcuret98, MastaGamerita, XOStarbrightXO, alexiaroosenhaan, anaklusmos26, **and** rysaspirit **for following! Definitely do all four of those stuff-things! Yup!**

 **This chapter features some of the OCs you've sent me! Hope you guys enjoy it! The characters are Evelyn Clause by 4Love4Love4 and Emberly Saffron by UltimateMaxmericaShipper**

My long fingers tightly grip the mahogany arms of my desk chair, near the verge of insanity. I decide humorlessly that if I had to create a scale of dangerous minds, at this current moment I'd rank somewhere between Adolf Hitler and an enraged mountain lion. Seriously, if I had to fill out another College Application, I was going to maim someone with one of the several needle-sharp number two pencils that my parents so _graciously_ stocked my study with.

They had me filling out forms all morning, and at this point, not only was I exhausted and frustrated, I felt like my hand was going to fall off.

"Evie?" My mother asks from the doorway, before granting herself permission to enter. Dressed in a charcoal pencil skirt and a matching blazer, I can't decide whether she's coming home from a meeting with her editorial staff or about to head off to one. "I have your tea. I know you didn't have a cup when you woke up this morning, and you're going to need your full attention and alertness if you're going to keep filling out your forms-especially the admissions essays."

"Goodie…" I mumble under my breath, relieving the steaming porcelain mug of earl grey (milk, no sugar) from her hands.

"How are your applications coming?" My mother ponders, trying to fill the silence. "I found a few more for you downstairs on the kitchen table. I think they just came today in the mail."

I sigh; hoping that I can hold off on my mental breakdown until my mother was gone. "They're fine," I answer dryly. My mother waits expectantly for elaboration. "My hand hurts." She chuckles politely in response.

"Ah, well, any great writer will mourn their times of hand cramps. I'm afraid it's not something you'll be able to stop." I remain silent, though now tense. I guess you can say that writing is a…. sore subject for me.

Five generations of Pulitzer Prize winning novelists in my family and somehow I had to be the one to miss out on the writer gene. How did I wind up being the disappointment? It wasn't like I was interested in waiting tables or singing, and I liked things that could become serious career paths if I could just _decide_ what I wanted to do the most, but none of the things I wanted in life had to do with literature. I don't even _like_ reading (hold your gasps, please), without even mentioning writing, which is even worse. Needless to say, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.

Regardless, by this time next year, I was expected to either be jumping headfirst into a respectable occupation or enrolled in one of the various elite schools I was currently writing applications for, so that I could take classes to further my knowledge of whatever career I intended to pursue. That means that by next year, my entire life had to be mapped out to the tee, and just this morning I almost cried because I didn't know if I wanted eggs or cereal for breakfast (granted, I hadn't had my tea, as my mother previously suggested, and I think this is a fine example of how I'm unable to function without my morning pick-me-up). There's no such thing as sabbatical for a three. Since we're the most densely populated of the upper castes, every job is a competition, and every second not acutely devoted to reaching a goal is a waste of time.

Speaking of wastes, I chose eggs. As a reformed vegan, it would be a misuse the right to eat animal byproducts by not choosing eggs over cereal. But wait-I'd have to use milk for that anyways, and that's an animal byproduct too…

Never mind. I'm delirious. I take another sip of tea, trying to get my thoughts sorted.

"You need to focus, Evie. Clause's conform to a specific standard of excellence, and I will not tolerate half-effort on these forms! Not getting into a good school could affect the entire course of your future! Don't you want to be as successful as Shannon, when you're her age?"

Ah. Pulling the, "look at how amazing your older sister is" card. I see what you're doing, mother. "Shannon is attending an in-province university and has Bs in every class besides English and Drama."

My mother shuts her eyes, and I can tell that I'm testing her patience. As far as Shannon goes, my parents tend to overlook her flaws. "Just fill out the forms." My mother tries her hardest not to storm out of the room, but her steps may as well be stomps.

Now exasperated, and not feeling any joy from being right and winning that small battle against my mother, I tug a hand though my pure blonde hair and resist to the urge to start pulling it out. I also bite my finger to stop from screaming in pure agony, my temples throbbing and stress level around it max point.

 _And there's still more downstairs._ A small voice inside my head shrieks. _After you're done with these forms, you're not even finished. There's no such thing as finished, it's just going to be a continuous circle of filling out forms forever and ever and ever…_

I have to get away. Out of this room, at the very least. My parents would kill me if I left the house.

So I venture to the kitchen, where my mother told me several new forms lay. I quickly sift through bills and publishers notes for envelopes addressed to Evelyn Clause, and find four. My insides feel like melting. Or maybe just my brain.

Shuffling through them as I stumble back down the hall to my study, I realize that one isn't like the others.

It's an entirely different color, first of all. While three of the letters are goose down white, the last is practically beige. It's thicker, as well. The address is in impeccable script that must have been the work of a skilled calligraphist, maybe hired by an older Ivy League school.

Tearing it open, I find that it's not from an Ivy at all.

 _How stupid could I be? It's for the Selection, of course._ In my defense, I think that the deduction part of my brain is totaled.

I race upstairs to my room, where I have my pre-sharpened, needle-pointed pencils laid out for debut-novel writing (more pencil gifts from my parents). Gripping just one, I feel like I'm welding my world with my own two hands.

I jot down the straightforward portions in seconds.

 _Name:_ Evelyn Alessandra Bay Clause

 _Age:_ 17

 _Province:_ Ottaro

 _Caste:_ Three

 _Occupation:_ Student

 _Hair Color:_ Honey-beach blonde

 _Eye Color:_ Hazel: a mix of blue, green, and grey

 _Skin Tone:_ Peach

 _Height:_ 5'5"

 _Weight:_ 120 pounds

 _Languages Spoken:_ English, German, Italian, Arabic

I pause, however, at hobbies. I contemplate putting down reading and writing, thinking that my parents might see it at some point, but eventually decide against it.

 _Hobbies:_ Learning about ancient history, psychology, philosophy, neurology, architecture, astronomy, skiing, soccer

Do you understand my indecisiveness now? And on top of that, I couldn't find a way to put an interest in being a food or movie critic, or a pilot as hobbies, so they'd have to stay with me. Just reading all of the things I'd actually _like_ to pursue makes me nauseous.

Deciding that I deserve a break before I'm sentenced back to trudging through never ending application-writing, I dress myself for the picture before I send off my form to whoever decides who's Selected.

I don't want to appear overdone, so I just change into denim jean shorts and a Britton Academy baseball t-shirt with mustard yellow elbow-length sleeves and the school's logo over the left breast. I figured that showing prestige from a school like that could only help my chances, and if they needed references, Shannon probably would be fair _enough_ as to not ruin my chances. After debating between brown leather gladiator sandals and converse, I choose comfort over style, assuming that _they_ (being whoever is sorting through applications) wont be able to see my feet. I have this weird thing about close-toed shoes; I can't stand wearing them. They make me claustrophobic, in some unexplainable way. And while the sun still shone as brightly as it did, and the air was warm enough for shorts, I would wear open-toed shoes. While I'm at it, I tousle my hair and perch my silver mirror aviators on the top of my head. I quickly apply eyeliner and mascara to my otherwise strait-out eyelashes, and a swipe of cherry Chap Stick over my lips, which weren't really dry at all. A spritz of perfume pronounces me "good enough".

It's a risk, sneaking downstairs with both of my parents floating around somewhere, but I tread as lightly as possible, skipping over stairs I know creak when they're stepped on.

And as I discreetly slip out the door, the barricade to the prison cell I'm doomed to spend the rest of my miserable life in, I can think of only one thing:

 _If you can pull this one off, Evie, you've escaped for good._

…

Even the strongest of people have their limitations. Vampires have the sun, Superman has kryptonite, and Atlas has a profound lack of intelligence. I'm lucky enough not to have any of these weaknesses, but that isn't to say that I don't have others.

"SPIDER!" I shriek, barely clutching the railing to the top bunk I had been sleeping in just moments ago as I threw myself backwards in a blinding state of fear. "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY-" I run, barefoot, to the other side of the room, nearly tripping over the six sleeping boys scattered on the ground of our abandoned grocery store warehouse. A few of them laugh, a few look like they want to murder me for waking them up, and one, Zeke, gets up to kill it for me. "Be careful!" I warn him, clutching the outside of my skinny arms. "It could be poisonous and if it bites you, you could die or-"

"Seriously, Emmy, it's just a bug. Get over it." Zeke yawns, stumbling back to his sleeping bag after the deed is done.

I straiten the ratty t-shirt I had been sleeping in before the 'night attack of the spider', almost self-consciously. "Well excuse me for lasting this long and not wanting to be killed by 'just a bug'." I strut back over to my bunk, climb up the splintering pine ladder, and tuck myself snug into the bed sheets. In my near-death experience, however, I'm left irreversibly awake. Sucks. I don't have to be up for hours. It couldn't be any later than six, and the Likely Central Jail didn't even open until eleven for visitors. Even so, there was no doubt that somewhere, a few miles from where I lay baking in the lack of air conditioning, there was a prison yard already fully awake (though pumped with exhaustion) and stocked with burly muggers and scraggly thieves, all strictly avoiding Eugenie "Macho Man" Carachiolo.

Poor Gino. Born with all brawn and no brain, and a crippling stutter that wouldn't allow anyone to be afraid of him. Or, I guess they could be at first, but not after he speaks. Gino's stature got the twelve of us into almost as many fights as Dean's quick tongue. In fact, Gino's _stature_ happened to be the thing that got him into _jail._ That, and some stupid gang across the city who decided that they needed to take us down a few pegs. As if we were emperors or something. Plus empress, for me.

Granted, sometimes it was tough being the only girl in a gang otherwise made up of only guys. I was the one responsible for bailing them out of jail (as I'd have to for Gino as soon as eleven strikes) and covering distractions as they looted gas stations and bed and breakfasts. The number of passes I've gotten from incoming members when they first met me is disgusting and insurmountable (hint: they quickly decided never to do that again after there was a split second difference between their remarks and a broken nose and wounded ego. I have a wicked uppercut and don't fancy being cat called), and there were many other gangs who decided to hate my guts, even if it was only because I'm a girl and they detest the fact that a member of "the weaker sex" could possibly be strong enough to make them afraid. Or intimidated, I guess is the better word.

But still, I'm respected enough to be third in charge, after Marco and Daveed. They also let me have a top bunk (but out of the three we have, I guess it would make sense for the leaders to each have one), even though I tried to create a rotation of some sort so the unlucky half wouldn't have to sleep on the floor _every_ night. They kill spiders for me, even when I wake them up at dawn. I guess you could say they're the only family I could ever need. Or want.

I stare at the ceiling aimlessly, counting the cracks in the plaster, when I hear Marco shuffle off his bunk and wander to mine, apologizing quickly to Tony below me as he stands level to my head. "Ember? You alright?"

I sigh before turning to face him, my slippery waves falling into my eyes. For the leader of our gang, Marco has always been pretty considerate. "I'm fine."

"Alright-there's no spider-punk I need to beat up for you then? You guys hashed it out?" I smile at Marco's attempt at a joke, something he really hasn't done much of since Jasper's death. It hit us all in different ways. And though I missed him like mad, it was probably his little brother it hit the hardest.

"I think that Zeke already beat you to that, sorry." He grins lightly. "My apologies if a rival gang of spiders comes to avenge his death, feel free to sacrifice me as a peace offering."

"Nah, we'd never sacrifice our third in command."

"Speaking of which," Tony grumbles from below us. I throw my head over the edge of the bunk to catch him grabbing something from under his pillow. "I swiped this from some lady's purse yesterday while I was collecting money for Gino's bail." He produces a Manila envelope, addressed to some two who's name I don't bother looking at, and hands it specifically to me. He even swipes it away when Marco tries to take it.

It takes me a few seconds. Then it strikes me like lightning.

 _The Selection. Duh._

Marco and I stare at each other in silence, frankly both of us probably curious as to what I'll do. As an illegitimate, it made perfect sense that I couldn't be mailed a Selection form, even though I'm plenty eligible.

"Should I…?" Marco remains silent, maybe trying to choose the right words.

"Yes." Tony's voice is muffled by his pillow, which he promptly threw himself into when I didn't agree to sign up immediately. "The money is crazy. They've gotta spend like a bazillion dollars on this crap."

"Imagine that," scoffs Dean, who was apparently eavesdropping on our conversation. To anyone else, the Selection would be the thought constantly plaguing their minds. I hadn't even considered it. " _Lady_ Ember, the Selected Daughter of Illéa from the province Likely." His voice is dripping with sarcasm and faux-sincerity, and if Marco wasn't blocking the only way out of my bunk, I might just have climbed down and shown him just how much of a lady I could be.

"I'm Miss Diamond, a socialite who summers in France." Eligh mocks in a high-pitched voice, maybe trying to sound like a girl, maybe trying to sound like he had a quarter lodged in his windpipe. Then he drops his voice to sound burlier, even though my tone cant be described as anything rougher than glassy. "I'm Ember, I'm a gang member who lives in the back of an abandoned grocery store. I also do tattoos, want one?" A few of the boys chuckle, but I refuse to give in. I mean, how dare they say that I _can't_ be selected! I know that I'm pretty, I'm loyal, pretty compassionate, and _I'll do whatever the hell I want to do_!

"For your information, " I interrupt their boyish giggling. "It's Emberly." There's a chorus of "ooohhhhs" as everyone turns to Eligh and Dean.

"My mistake, _Your Highness_." There's more howling from those who were laughing at me in the first place, and Marco tells them all to shove it or they can sleep outside. The chatter wanes until the warehouse is once again almost silent.

"You can join if you want to, Ember." Marco leaves me with these depressed-sounding parting words as he traipses back to his bunk.

I turn though the application, considering thoughtfully. It's a pretty simple form, not to nosy or anything, and very straightforward. It wouldn't take me any more than three minutes to fill out-and only if I _really_ took my time-and I'd need to get dolled up anyway for bailing Gino out, so it wouldn't be like I had to go out of my way to _obviously_ care about getting Selected. Plus, the Services Office is probably right around the corner from the jail. In walking distance, at least. And there were so many pros to joining: if Tony was right, and you get some sort of compensation just for competing, it could mean a steady diet for all of them-maybe even a more upscale place to sleep, or at the very least actual beds. They couldn't need me to bail them out anymore, if they wouldn't be risking their necks in the first place. Plus, it would give Tony a taste at being in charge. I think he was waiting to be promoted for a while now.

But still, what if they get in trouble and I'm not there? Or they need someone to play the distraction? I don't know if I could bring myself to leave them.

I try to let go of those thoughts immediately. _Ember, you're being selfish. They could eat three meals every day and you're worried about_ missing _them? How do you even compare the pros and cons!_

And in that moment I know I need to sign up. Screw the odds, I need to have a little faith and act on the assumption that I could get accepted. I cant' bear to think of what might happen if I don't. More fighting, more jail sentences. Worse case possible, more injuries, and someone gets seriously hurt. But if I can do something to stop that from happening… I'll do whatever it is.

I grab one of my favorite sketching pens and begin to fill out the form.

 _Name:_ Emberly Athalia Saffron

 _Age:_ 17

 _Province:_ Likely

 _Caste:_ 5

 _Occupation:_ Tattoo Artist

 _Hair Color:_ Honey

 _Eye Color:_ Blue

 _Skin Tone:_ Creamy tan

 _Height:_ 5'2"

 _Weight:_ 103 lbs

 _Languages Spoken:_ English and Spanish

 _Hobbies:_ Drawing, painting, car racing, dancing, singing, trying new things

After I look the form over and pronounce my work finished, I start to get ready. I brush my hair from it's tangled mess, reminding me that it's glossy when I do. I also gloss my lips a bit with a regular lip-colored lip-gloss and add some blush and mascara, so I can both convince the jail guard to help me bail Gino and look more appealing to the camera as I take my picture for my application. Changing out of my t-shirt (which didn't look or smell that great), I slip on the one and only dress I have: a near knee-length black skirt attached to a black and white sleeveless bodice (shows off my curves-or lack thereof, so it just shows off my ribs), along with my leather jacket and a beat up pair of formerly white tennis shoes. It goes along with the usual attire of someone who is tasked with charming her friends out of jail. That's another thing, I guess. I'm charming. All in all, I don't really think that I would make the worst queen in Illéan history, even if I'm not actually in this for the crown, or even the prince. Not yet, I suppose. We'll see.

Because some things hit hard. And though there's pleasure before you fall, I don't want to be the one with the broken ribs, the black eye, and the shattered heart ever again.

 **That's all for this one! Make sure to review and submit, guys! Still have a bunch of spaces left!**

 **LOOOOOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	5. Tales of a Not-So Prince Charming

**Hey guys! This took a bit longer to get out than I'd originally planned, but hope you like it! It features Waverly Evans, submitted by JenHen48, and Delilah Gregory, submitted by Happygreenbirdy. A lot of you also asked for a POV of one of the Royals, so I have one of those for you too!**

 **Shout out to** Monotonic Rainbow **for following and favoriting,** XOstarbrightXO **for favoriting and submitting,** Jcuret98, ryaspirit, **and** Happygreenbirdy **for submitting, and** XOstarbrightXO, ryaspirit, CarrieReeRay, jenhen48, Monotonic Rainbow (x2), and UltimiteMaxmericaShipper **for reviewing! Definitely continue to do all of those things, and SUBMIT!**

 **Enjoy!**

…

 _Waverly Evans_

The prompt for this morning's Beginning Activity was pretty simple: write twelve sentences (two paragraphs, as my little second graders had just learned) of your own fairytale. Five minutes to write, and then the kids can volunteer their stories.

So far, it has been a train wreck.

Halseia Station's fairytale involved a fairy who gave children peppermint candy and sent demons to kill mean parents who took it away.

Riley O'Keefe's story was about a pig, named after the young author, who ate his children's legs when they wouldn't roll around in the mud and was resolved when a dragon swallowed the swine whole.

The great future-novelist, Quigley Pierce, wrote about flying poop. Enough said on that one.

With each inappropriate and/or violent story, I want to recede deeper and deeper into my own skeleton and become a human turtle. This prompt was my idea, and Mrs. Edilie Parson had been so encouraging of me, even letting me plan out the rest of the lessons for the day as a reward for the concept I had come up with. Usually, I leave the lesson planning to her, not wanting to further invade her teaching, and not sure I'm prepared yet. I've only just been transferred from Kindergarten to Second Grade this school year, and I'm Mrs. Parson's student teacher, not the other way around.

 _What a great way to prove that I'm ready to plan more lessons..._

I know that I should cut the story telling short, as to not encourage stuff like this, so I call on one last volunteer: Marina Hepburn. I know that teachers shouldn't pick favorites, but she's mine regardless. She's so intelligent, and so eloquent for her age. She'll have her birthday in late November, making her one of two children in the class still seven, and wears ice blue every day (today it was ribbon securing her auburn curls out of her eyes, with a navy and white striped romper and light pink flip-flops). I bite my nails nervously (which I already have tried quitting-to no avail), praying that her story won't be as terrible as the others'.

"Once Upon a Time, there was a pretty lady named Ms. Evans." Marina begins, much to my almost immediate embarrassment. "She cared for many little children and protected them from evil wizards and dragons. She didn't have any kids herself, or a nice husband, but she had a very big heart anyway. She was also sad because she wanted to see the world outside the Kingdom of Columbia but didn't have anyone to see it with her. She didn't want to go alone. So she always stayed home and cared for the town's kids, like a pretty, nice babysitter.

"One day, she found Prince Charming. His full name was Prince Cameron Charming. They fell in love and got married. Ms. Evans became Ms. Evans Charming. They had kids and then travelled the world. And they all lived happily ever after." Marina skips back to her seat and high fives Gilliam Stonem, who I've gathered must be her best friend. "The End."

"That was a very nice story, Marina." Mrs. Parson coos, sending me a small smile. I avert my eyes and hope that the undertones in my face haven't been cranked up by a million, but I can practically feel heat radiating off of my skin. Seriously, my complexion must resemble Pepto Bismol.

I had tried to avoid thinking about the Selection for as long as possible. No matter how strong I wanted to be, I knew it was too soon to "get back out there", as my roommates/best(/only) friends seemed to want me to do. I think I deserve a bit more time. There's no cap on how long it takes to grieve someone you've lost. That includes good for nothing ex-fiancé's who use you to get in good with your mother and secure a recording contract. It's taken almost just as long to wrap my head around the fact that I'll never again be able to write a song without thinking of said good for nothing ex-fiancé, who could sing like an angel and turn mere thoughts into poetry... Never mind. I don't want to talk about it. Wait, not _it_ ; _him_ , sorry.

 _It's too soon. Definitely. Right?_

I try to push the impending cutoff date for sending in Applications as far as possible from my mind. Instead, it's time to split into Vocabulary Study groups. I take the teal group and Mrs. Parson the green. The other three groups (clumped by talent in spelling tests and basic word comprehension) go to their assigned stations. After I'm finished with teal, I take lilac group, the smartest in the class (Marina amongst them), and after them, yellow. Mrs. Parson has already gone through green and crimson, and monitors the children who aren't studying with me. After every group has gone, we head off to lunch: kids to the cafeteria in the basement, Mrs. Parson and I to the teacher's lounge.

I'm sure you can imagine my surprise as I find Aislynn and Clara (the best friends/roommates I mentioned earlier) waiting for me in my usual seat next to Willa Thorne, the fourth grade teacher from the top floor, and Teagan Chase, the aid that one of the students I had while I taught kindergarten (they had both moved so they could gossip by the window). Aislynn's in Media and Advertising, and works later than the rest of us, and Clara's smack in the middle of a school day (she's a teacher, like me), so I'm left unsure about how they got time off to spontaneously visit me.

"Umm. Hi guys?" I raise one eyebrow and push my dark hair behind my ears as I sit down on Clara's left hand side.

"I'll cut to the chase," Aislynn says suddenly, not bothering with formalities. She throws down a Manila form and a black pen onto the table in front of me, and I watch her pull her own. "The Selection. We're entering."

"But not me." Clara reminds us. "I'm twenty, it's you children that are signing up." Aislynn giggles, but all I can conjure are protests.

"Wait! I know what you're going to say, and please don't." Aislynn interrupts me before I even have a chance to speak. "I know that you don't want to, but Clara and I think this would be really good for you. _Proof_ you're over him, yeah?"

I don't have the heart to tell them that I'm in fact _not_ over Jefferson. That their sappy movie therapy and pint after pint of ice cream they had forked over cash for in a three week span couldn't help me.

"Maybe I just don't want to. Maybe I don't like Prince Cameron." I reason, trying to get out of entering. Actually, I've had a celebrity crush on the elusive Crown Prince since I was young. I don't really have any idea what he's like, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious.

"Come on! Please, Waverly?" Clara begs.

I consider arguing again, a rebuttal to her plea on the tip of my tongue. But instead I just stifle a sigh, finally relenting. "Fine." My best friends high five and freak out for a minute. I almost feel like laughing at the sight.

I click my pen on and so does Aislynn. Clara helps out with phrasing things better, being an English teacher and all.

 _Name:_ Waverly Nicole Evans

 _Age:_ 19

 _Province:_ Columbia

 _Caste:_ Three

 _Occupation:_ Second Grade Student Teacher

 _Hair Color:_ Dark Chestnut Brown

 _Eye Color:_ Hazel

 _Skin Tone:_ Lightly tanned

 _Height:_ 5'7"

 _Weight:_ 120 pounds

 _Languages Spoken:_ English, German, and French.

I try to write Spanish, because I _totally_ can speak it, but Clara scolds me not to, saying that lying on my form could get me in serious trouble. _Lying. PSH_. I can _so_ speak Spanish...

 _Hobbies:_ Teaching, drawing, singing, playing guitar, writing songs, reading, baking

Clara admires my form and then Aislynn's after mine, and we head to the head of Administration's office to let me leave early. They tell me it's ok, which I'm remarkably surprised about, and the three of us walk to our shared apartment.

Clara dresses both our friend and I. For Aislynn, it's blue skinny jeans and a turquoise lace top (to bring out her eyes, of course), with her long blonde hair pulled back in a braid. For me, it's far less dressed up. I get to keep the plain black leggings I had on, but I change my green blouse for a long sleeved white and black stripped shirt and an orange scarf around my neck. I get little black flats and a gold wristwatch as my accessories, and my hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I apply mascara and blush, not wanting to overdo it, and Clara practically pushes Aislynn and I out the door.

 _Jefferson Reynolds: this is me saying goodbye and good riddance. You can't control me anymore._

…

 _Delilah Gregory_

I run into the wooden confines of my family's barn, searching desperately for a sink to wash afterbirth from my fingers. I'd like to think that knowing what happens when you deliver babies will be really useful for me when I'm having my own kids, but at this point I think I've had enough birthing to last me a lifetime. But, if I happen to have multiple children at once, I'll be a lot more prepared, because no dog that I've ever bred has had only one. _Horses,_ however, were another story. Delivering foals was a lot grosser… I mean, covered in blood and other things I don't even want to think about, I'm a lot less likely to want kids than with puppies.

Two of my horses, Jack and Sally, have delivered me a sterling mare that I've decided to name Rosey. I don't typically name the foals, as I read somewhere that if you name it, you start getting attached to it (and it's definitely true), but in the past year I've had to start keeping the horses I get. Jack, Sally, and my other two horses, Quinton and Sara, are each somewhere from twenty-four to twenty-eight years old, and they don't have much more time. And I'd know better than anyone, horses are really expensive. It's not like money is incredibly tight here, I guess, but we don't have any extra to just throw around. Rosey will make the third in my new generation of breeders, along with Taylor and Trysten. I just helped my sister, McKenzie, ride one yesterday. Her long, blonde hair flew about haphazardly, and the canary yellow in her dress was dirtied by mud, but I don't think I've ever seen her more excited.

Once I'm cleaned up, I wander back outside the barn to help Sara in any way, to make her more comfortable. I only make it a few steps, however, until my heart stops in my chest and I fall backwards. _It almost landed on my nose_. A butterfly flutters past me, it's wings black and red and gold, and immediately I'm terrified.

As far as I can remember, butterflies have always been around when something bad happens. When I was six and ten respectively, I was watching butterflies hatch from cocoons when I heard that my mother had a first and second miscarriage and I wouldn't be a sister. When I was twelve, I was looking at a butterfly out the window in my classroom when I got a report card back with my first C (I didn't take that one well). When I was fourteen, I was outside looking at flowers for my botanology assignment (with butterflies on them, of course, and at that point I was already a bit scared) when my father came out of our house in the lively cityscape in Zuni saying we were being bumped down a caste. After that one, I realized that everything bad happened to me when there are butterflies around, but awareness didn't stop it. When I was sixteen, a butterfly landed on the arm that I wound up breaking a half an hour later, and just last month, one of my dogs was chasing a monarch before it spontaneously died.

And lying on the ground, breaths nearly coming out as whimpers, I decide that it's impossible to feel more terrified. So I change course, after picking myself back up. Instead of risking a horse's life, I trudge to my family's farmhouse. I'm not sure if I can escape bad luck like that, but I figure it's worth a shot.

I haven't taken but three steps into the house when I realize that I've gone in the wrong direction. My mother stands behind the kitchen table, holding a cream envelope addressed to me, which she probably found in the trash, where I had put it yesterday. I stand still, knowing it would be pointless to try to run.

"No." I flat out refuse. I am _not_ joining the Selection. Not when I don't have much time with my horses, or my dog Lucky. Not when my sister is still young and impressionable and there are no other kids in a ten-mile radius. No chance I'm going.

"Delilah," my mother demands, her eyes turning the color of ice. "Yes, you are." I instinctively back away when she comes out from behind the table and tries to force me to sit. "If not for the prince, you _need_ to meet girls your age. You haven't had a friend since LyRynne, and it's been _years_! You have to get back out there, meet some nice girls and make friends! I'm worried about you, alright?" I glare into her eyes, trying to ignore the guilt I can see in them.

All right, so I get her point. I haven't been around girls my age in forever. But… I don't know, I just don't want to.

"Please do it, Delilah." My mother presses the envelope into my hands and walks out of the room, casting me one final, desperate look before she disappears. I can feel simultaneous guilt and resentment building in my chest. No I do _not_ care about the prince or being queen. Yes I _do_ want to make friends. No I _don't_ want to be away from my family and my animals, many of who don't have much time left. Yes I _do_ want some more money in case something happens, and a caste raise to three could mean I have the opportunity to become a veterinarian again. Yes, no, yes, no….

Damn. I wish I hadn't thought of the vet thing, now I actually _want_ to sign up…

I shuffle to our kitchen's cabinet, where I take the nearest writing utensil and sit down. It's my father's old work pen, from when he was a vet himself. I recognize the near-black color as one which always wrote up reports and made notes in, and I feel a bit more confident immediately.

 _Name:_ Delilah Evangeline Gregory

 _Age:_ 17

 _Province:_ Zuni

 _Caste:_ Four

 _Occupation:_ Pet Breeder

 _Hair Color:_ Brown

 _Eye Color:_ Auburn-Hazel

 _Skin Tone:_ Tan

 _Height:_ 5'6"

 _Weight:_ 109 lbs

 _Languages Spoken:_ English, Italian, French, and Spanish

 _Hobbies:_ Archery, horseback riding, reading, training, hiking

There. That seems decent, right?

I call my mother so that she can assess everything that I've put down (I mean, if it's _her_ making me go, she should at least proof it. Also, she was the one who got all of her education, while I got only until second grade), and she agrees that the Selection could become my reality with a form like mine. I mean, I speak four languages, and my hobbies are all good. All my mother says is that I have to get ready so my Application Picture can match the quality of everything else, but doesn't trust me enough to pick out my own outfit. A nice black dress is waiting for me upon entering my room, with a pair of high heels sitting on the floor beside my bed. I chuckle at my mother's efforts and roll my eyes. Instead of the dress (I do _not_ wear dresses, thank you very much), I swap my bloody t-shirt and jeans for a dark grey and green flannel, black top, and ripped up black shorts. I throw my hair up into a ponytail and put on a little mascara and Chap Stick before trudging back downstairs.

The look on my mother's face (the look of slight pride, which overshadowed her distain) is enough to make me sure that I made the right choice. I almost feel like hugging her.

…

 _Princess Cassiopeia Havillard_

My mother says that patience is a virtue. That a princess should be calm and kind, and cater to others, rather than have others cater to her. And normally, I try to conform to the standards that my parents have set for a "perfect princess", even though I've nicknamed myself Sisyphus, constantly pushing a boulder up a mountain to an unreachable peak, (perseverance is also apparently one of the virtues, according to my father), but right now, I'm at my wits end. So you can call me high maintenance if you'd like, and I won't care. I've had enough of Cameron's façade.

This was no longer some coping mechanism. These are his ways of shutting people out and begging for attention. It's bratty and petty, and after this morning, I've had enough.

He didn't utter a word at breakfast. He blatantly ignored me when I asked if he was excited for his Selection (I mean, less than a week from the actual _selecting_ part of the competition, and if I was him I'd definitely be either very excited or very nervous), and immediately after sifting through his meal, he trudged up to his bedroom, not bothering to speak to any of us. You could hear his door close all the way from a floor below.

It's dumb.

I mean, I'm his sister. I get that he doesn't care much about my opinion or anything, and I understand that he _thinks_ he can treat me like crap without repercussions, but what about when the girls come? Is he going to refuse to open up to them too? Will he dismiss them in crazy quantities due to scrutinizing pickiness? There's too much on the line here for him to throw it away.

Speaking of having lots of stuff on the line, we're building a bomb shelter. My parents say that it's just a precaution, that there really isn't anything to worry about, but really, I think that they're nervous. And why shouldn't they be? We all had thought that the conflicts between India and Italy would quickly resolve, but in the past two months, no such thing had happened. India, for trading purposes, wanted to make a system of waterways to allow their ships passage along Cairo, which is on the border of the newly Italian Territory: Buona Gaînes. The Italians refuse to allow the building of such waterways, and as India is being cut off from trade with the rest of Europe due to its lack of connections, more unrest and frustration is building. India's economy can't survive without selling its exports, and Italy's recent boom in population has got them hunting for new land anywhere they can find it. This is causing unrest with countries like Tunisia, Portugal, the southern part of Spain, and even the nearly anarchical Novaya Zemlya Island, who just recently requested independence from its mother country, Russia. Most of the Northern part of the African Republic has sided with India without officially becoming a part of the brewing war, and southeast Asia has allied fully, but Italy has support from the Nordic countries, the majority of Europe, and of course, us, should we choose to enter the effort at all. Simply looking at my father, you could tell that he'd been tenser, as of late. His smile never quite reached his eyes, as someone who had known him for her entire life could tell.

And what are we doing in the midst of all of the turmoil? Battle planning? Ha. Don't make me laugh. No, we're preparing for Cam's Selection. Not that he asked for one, or even seemed to desire one (although, there's really no way of figuring out whether or not he had wanted one, considering _he's decided that actual speaking is unnecessary_ ). And next year? Would we be working out peace treaties then, when the war will _hopefully_ be over? Probably not. Because next year it will be _Mason's_ turn for a Selection. And then mine will be two years after Mason's, and Connor's a year after mine. Elena will be three years after Connor, though, so lets cross our fingers and pray that we can get stuff sorted out in that span. But unless we fire our entire advisory board and stock the new cabinet with fresher faces, best of luck to future us. My father's advisors are all idiots. I'm sure they were at one point the brightest of their age, but some of those gentlemen are now into their older sixties and young seventies. Obviously they would have a much older-fashioned perspective than someone closer to my brother's age.

What each of them seemed to miss was that, if we can just ally with India (on top of our old-standing alliance with Italy), we could probably negotiate peace between the two nations a lot easier, still without involving ourselves and our people in battle. I've even tried suggesting things like that before at advisory meetings that all of the Havillard children are able to sit in on upon their sixteenth birthday (I'm just newly seventeen, so I had gotten used to the fact that I was usually blatantly ignored), but who on earth would anyone listen to a naïve, young princess such as myself? I wasn't meant to be queen, and I only had a place in the line because blatant sexism like exclusion would cause unrest amongst our people, but no one really saw me fit to be a ruler. Most of the advisors didn't even bother addressing me as Princess Cassiopeia, or Princess Cassia, as they would any of my brothers. If I didn't know that there was no other way to be kept in the loop about important issues such as the current usual topic of discussion, I'd boycott the meetings all together. Not that anyone would notice.

And because nobody listens to such a silly princess as myself, my father and the advisors thought it better to prepare for lethal attacks on our land (hence, building the bomb shelter, in case of nuclear warfare) than stopping the commotion at it's roots and negotiating peace.

So on top of needing to disguise the shelter in some abandoned corridor that's equidistance from the girls' rooms, the dining hall, great room, Women's Room, and our royal chambers, we need to put the finishing touches on everything related to the Selection. There were the matters of reconstructing each room (my mother found a flaw in the bathroom plan and had to scrap each and every one), hiring maids specifically catered to serving ladies that would simultaneously be the valuable property of Illéa and amongst them a future queen, hiring gourmet chefs to cook up recipes not involving allergies that we don't even know if the girls have yet, and picking an educational refinery specialist out of over six hundred applicants. Needless to say, the palace is currently a mess. It's like a bomb went off here, which is (thankfully) hasn't yet.

Stepping over a cluster of workers varnishing the stairs, I slipped off my sneakers and marched up the grand foyer staircase ("no shoes, food, beverages, or animals allowed on the third floor"). Skimming the walls for a few seconds, I find Cameron's room, which I'm not in all that often. I knock with a quiet determination, and wait almost two minutes for Cam to open the door. When he doesn't, I knock again. Another two minutes and another cluster of knocks pass before I barge into my oldest brother's room without official permission.

My mouth drops near the floor.

 **Cliffhanger *Insert demonic laughing*! Guess you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out what Cassia saw…!**

 **Speaking of next chapter, I'm thinking that I'm going to have max one more chapter of intros before I announce the Selected. SUBMIT PEOPLE! It's been slow lately, most definitely try to send in characters!**

 **Also, review! Each one makes me smile so much guys, please just do it.**

 **Love you all! :)**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	6. Six

**Hey everyone! It's been a while, but I have another update for you! This chapter features Princess Cassia (to clear up the cliffhanger from last chapter), Pepper Hearst (submitted by 4Love4Love4), and Audrey Matlock (submitted by Cookiedoodles168).**

 **As for last chapter, thank you to** Cookiedoodles168, Rainbowcupcakes579, and Issi Herondale **for following** Rainbowcupcakes579 **for favoriting,** Monotonic Rainbow, Happygreenbirdy, anaklusmos26, XOstarbrightXO, Booki (guest), fivesauce'n'YAbooks, Rainbowcupcakes579, 4Love4Love4 (x3), **and** Cookiedoodles168 **for reviewing,** Rainbowcupcakes579, Monotonic Rainbow, JenHen49, Cookiedoodles168, and 4Love4Love4 **for submitting! DEFINITELY DO ALL OF THOSE THINGS AND IN REGARDS TO SUBMITTING, PLEASE READ THE AUTHORS NOTE BELOW!**

 **Enjoy, everyone!:)**

…

 _Princess Cassia Havillard_

It was like I caught him in the midst of the murder. My oldest brother, who may as well be an emotionless sociopath: who seemingly wouldn't have even _cared_ if I caught him killing someone. But what I saw was decidedly worse. Not that he cared about that either, I'm sure.

"Oh. Hey, Cassia." Cameron looks up from the papers on his desk to regard me.

"Cameron… Are you-" I step forward, but he's already become bored of me. Cameron goes back to sifting through forms. Each is made of thick manila and filled out with an assortment of writing utensils and colors. A picture is clipped to every one, and the swarm of unique faces is dizzying. These are the letters that have been flooding the palace for the past month. "Are those Selection Applications?"

Cameron doesn't bother to look up this time. "Yep."

"Does Dad know you have these?" I start to notice them everywhere. Sheets of manila oak tag are clumped into distinct piles around my oldest brother's room. A sea of cream washes over his dresser, bed, and stack up along the area behind his desk. Every inch of counter space is used to hold them, and I watch as Cam skims a form in his hand and throws it haphazardly behind him.

"It was Dad's _idea_. I don't think he's going to be that mad." He places another paper in a pile on the right of the last. "Thanks for looking out for me, though…" I almost feel like I can detect sarcasm in his voice, but I'm not sure.

"Are you _choosing_ your girls?" I can't contain my shock, but I taste a hint of revolt in my tone as the words come out.

"Not yet." He informs me casually. "I get to pick six total, and this is only part three of my screening process."

"Six? Wait, why that many?"

Cameron shrugs. "I don't know." He looks back at his forms. "Want to see some?"

 _No. No. No, Cassia say no. No. CASSIA DON'T YOU DARE!_ "Yeah. Sure."

Cameron gives me what looks like an unconvincing attempt at a tight-lipped grin (of sorts) before grabbing my hand and showing me _exactly_ how there was order to the exasperating chaos of his bedroom. The first stop is the stack of forms to the left of his desk. "This pile, over here, are the ones who I'm not even considering. They didn't even make it past part _one_ of the screening process."

"How do you pass part one?"

"Be pretty." He says blatantly. I feel like choking. "Please, do you want an ugly heir? Genetics are like, _pretty_ important, Cassia." Cam moves on. "The ones here, by the window, didn't seem interesting. Like, they'd probably be pretty enough, but the hobbies sounded so vastly boring that I probably couldn't even bring myself to care much about them. You'd be _so surprised_ at how many girls decided that they could sing, or loved to bake, or read. _This_ is the pile of girls who bored me to tears just _reading."_ Cam takes me to the final pile on the right of his desk. "These are the ones who are going through the next part of consideration. They're pretty, and they seem interesting. A bunch come from great families, or have connections that we could need, or even just could bring popular approval. After I finish deciding between if the rest of these forms go past phase three, I can pick the one's I'm considering for my six." He sits at his desk, telling me that my "tour" is finished. "The ones on my bed are contenders. Some of those girls seem like _phenomenal_ choices. Feel free to take a look at them, and if you disagree, I'd like to know immediately."

I walk away from Cameron's desk and position myself at the foot of his bed. There are almost enough forms on this mattress to fill the entire Selection, even though Cameron only gets to pick a few. I take each thoughtfully and begin to shuffle through.

All I can say is that Cam has ( _mostly_ ) good taste.

The first girl I see is a beautiful female firefighter with gorgeous auburn curls and a bright simper on her lips. Her name is Halley Rowan, a two from Columbia. I can see exactly what Cameron did in her. Halley is gorgeous, and you could assume some redeemable qualities from her occupation.

The next is a blonde from Ottaro with unequivocally perfect features and the most incredible list of hobbies I've ever seen. There's a fairy-like girl clad in a leather jacket and a dainty smile (a _tattoo artist!_ If Cameron didn't pick her, Dad and his advisors never would). I spot an Y'Inquistion model and a famous singer. There's a sexy pool cleaner from Allens and an up and coming _flawless_ looking lawyer from Tammins. _Impeccable taste, Cameron._ I can picture most of these women as queenly, wifely, fascinating… I'm almost amazed that there are so many who deserve these spots so much, and immediately I'm taken with each.

All of a sudden, in the midst of shuffling through "Cameron's Favorites", a barely detectable gasp comes from behind me. Dropping the forms I have in my hand (a cheerful brunette with the most dazzling hazel eyes I've ever seen), I strut over to peer over my brother's shoulder. My mouth pops open. "Wow."

Aspen Marx, a four from Waverly, is decidedly one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen in my life. She's athletic, tall, fit, and has an impressive list of entertaining hobbies. She speaks three languages and has the dual ethnicity of Bulgarian and Italian. With beautiful, dark brown hair, eyes to match, and flawless olive skin, you could immediately see how attractive she'd look by Cameron's side.

"Should I put her in the pile on your bed?"

"Um… what?" Cam ponders, snapping out of his daze "Oh yeah, sure."

From there, the form sifting continues.

…

 _Pepper Hearst_

"Hmmmm, and what color are they today?" I wheel around in my pale brown, heeled suede ankle boots in indescribable terror. I only narrowly avoid crashing into the source of the voice or stepping on his feet with my shoes, which makes the color drain from my face and my already quick pulse go into rapid overdrive. I can't help but shrink against my reception desk, and almost knock over the computer I'm required to have. Casey Shard and Ian Rison, both clad in azure cashmere sweaters and black sport coats, practically tower over me, and smile as if the thought of me being _scared_ is funny.

"Please-please, leave me alone." I manage, failing to find my strength. My eyes dance between the two of them before I grab the file folder left on my desk this morning and bring it to its intendant.

Ian and Casey do this every morning. It's their little bet: a dollar to the one who could guess my eye color of the day. My irises are far from _exciting_ or hetrochromic, but are… evolving. They move between brown and green, and my coworkers (Or-I mean, they're both superiors) like to amuse themselves with that.

Casey, the shorter of the two, runs to stop me. I bite back a yelp, and swallow the lump in my throat and the need to recoil in an anxious shock. He smiles a perfect, pearly smile, like you'd see in a Colgate advertisement, and he looks back to Ian. "Green. I win!"

"Damn… You son of a-" Casey snatches the dollar from his friend's palm. I take this as my opportunity to make a quick getaway to my superior's desk, near the conference room in the back. But it's only seconds before the pair bolts to catch up with me. "Hey, wait! Pepper, why do you always do that?" Ian falls into pace with my quick stride, and as if that wasn't terrible enough, my heart closes in on itself when Casey appears on my other side to loop his arm with mine. "Casey and I are taking a couple of people from the office out for drinks tonight. Want to come with us?"

"Oh… Um. I'd love to, but I can't…" I fumble for words, or an excuse, and try to _politely_ escape the conversation.

"C'mon, what can someone _possibly_ have to do on a Wednesday?"

"I- uh…"

"Wait… Don't tell me." Ian stops us all of a sudden. Every fiber of my being screams to run away, but I try to stay as still as I can. "Are you entering the Selection?"

I try to object. "I-"

"Ouch," Casey smirks, appearing a bit deflated in the crinkles around his eyes. "And here I thought we were the only guys in your life. You're too special for some stuck up prince."

I'm suddenly paralyzed. I hate this. I hate it when they say things like that, for no reason at all. I've sat up for hours, when I'm supposed to be sleeping, conjuring up why they'd want to plot against me. I'm almost sure that's what they're doing: giving me empty compliments that they don't mean so they can win me over, just to humiliate me-or something along those lines.

I push away and keep my head held high as I walk to my superior's desk. "I'm _not_ joining the Selection."

"Oh my god! Did someone say Selection?" Mila, one of the girls who work with Casey and Ian, rolls back her desk chair and appears out of her cubicle, making me nearly collapse on the floor in surprise.

"No, I-"

"Oh my God, _please_ tell me you're entering, Pepper!" Mila squeals. "The deadline is like, only a few days away and I haven't had anyone to enter with! I hear those lines are, like, three hours long and it would _suck_ to have to wait alone! Oh my God, will you wait with me?"

"I'm-"

" _Please!_ " Mila stretches out every sound, and completes the plea with puppy dog eyes and a pout. _I did not wake up ready for this. Not today. I cant do this I cant do this I cant do this…_ "Ugh this is ridiculous. Just say you'll enter with me!"

"Um. Ok." _No Pepper oh dear god what have you done oh god oh god oh god!_

"Amazing! Got a free sec? We can fill out the forms now!"

I swallow, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach as it feels corroded by the digestive acids. So much for my mad-racing heart. No more throbbing pulse for me. "Ok." I hurry to drop the paperwork on my superior's desk before running behind the reception desk and grabbing my backpack. I fish through it before pulling out my Selection form (which was only there because I didn't trust my mom not to fill it out for me, or for my sisters to enter me with false information so something bad happens to me if I get in), and then whatever pen is in closest vicinity before coming back to sit with Mila. _Deep breaths, Pepper. Deep breaths it's ok its ok its ok._

"This is so exciting! I'd, like, _love_ to be Selected! I've dreamed of entering since I was a little girl playing princess with my friends." The redhead laughs. "What about you?"

 _Can we please not talk oh my god I cant I cant!_ "Well, I guess I've always had a tiny crush on Prince Cameron, from when I was young." I admit lazily. "It's not major, or anything. Just from seeing him on the _Report_." _And an entire childhood of fantasizing about what our children would look like with the best friends I no longer have._ But even after Luca and the rest of my sisters stopped bothering with me, he was still the talk of the house, although it was Sage who the sisters fangirled about and shipped with Prince Cameron, since they were the same age (born six months and one day apart). I was stuck smiling in the corner, dreaming about him being mine instead of my sister's. I mean, how _selfish_ of me. How vain, to think that I'd have _any_ sort of chance with Prince Cameron; against Sage, or against anyone. But I couldn't help myself. He always seemed really peaceful, and constantly at ease. Either that, or the exact opposite. I guess I saw a lot of Prince Cameron mirrored in myself, and I figured they were somewhat of the same. And if I allowed myself to think that, for just one second I wasn't alone.

Mila laughs again. "Oh my god, I don't know a single girl who doesn't! He is _hot!_ "

I force a small smile on my lips and the bile rising in my throat to subside. "Yeah, I guess so."

Mila gets to work on her form immediately, scrawling her information in expensive black ink, but I take a bit longer taking out my application (making sure that I didn't crinkle the oak tag, tear the corners, or anything else like that), and write very slowly. I'm horrified when my hands start shaking, and have to rub them quickly, push my hair behind my ear, and take a very deep breath to calm down a bit. At my next attempt to sign my name, everything is loopy and pretty and exactly how it should be. _Normal. Just ninety degrees from normal._

 _Name:_ Pepper Primrose Hearst

 _Age:_ 17

 _Province:_ Kent

 _Caste:_ Six

 _Occupation:_ Secretary and Receptionist for Zarcos Fashion Magazine

 _Hair Color:_ Pale Golden Blonde

 _Eye Color:_ Brown/Green

 _Skin Tone:_ Medium white

 _Height:_ 5 feet and 4 inches

 _Weight:_ 102 pounds

 _Languages Spoken:_ English and Latin, some French and Italian

 _Hobbies:_ Designing, styling, sketching, astrology, walking, playing piano

After I put my pen down, I look over to find Mila staring at me. I almost jump out of my seat, and such an intense look makes me want to cry or evaporate or die or all three, I don't know. But immediately, as if I imagined it, her demeanor transforms into a smiley one. "Ready?"

"What? Don't I have to get changed, or something?"

"Well, what you have on is pretty cute, I thought." I look down to check what I'm wearing, surprised that I have any approval at all. Along with my light brown suede ankle booties, I have a shapeless cotton dress in blush (both with spaghetti straps and off the shoulder drapes, and little designs going down the front and hemline), little fake rhinestone studs, and a necklace so small it's practically a choker. I'm plenty aware at how important subtle nuances are when it comes to styling, and how accessories can _make_ an outfit, but I typically can't afford such things. My golden hair is kept out of my face in a long French braid and slung over my bare shoulder.

"Oh. Ok." I say, trying to avoid addressing her compliment. _Fake: they're all fake she's trying to set me up it's a fake compliment she doesn't mean it she is lying._

 _Deep breaths, Pepper._

We step out of the office, with her radiant as the sun and me submerged under a hundred meters of water, my lungs aching for oxygen that it can never have.

…

 _Audrey Matlock_

I graze the spine of emerald and gold binding, and pull the book from the library's shelf. _Ad Intentionem._ Intention to enter _._ Not exactly what I'm looking for.

For whatever reason, I couldn't find a single reference to _ad litem_ : for the case. Due to the fact that Professor Archibald has only just assigned the investigation for what's being called "The Interference Call" this morning in my Advanced International Law course, I can conclude that either there is no information surrounding the case, or I've met my match in regards to early preparation.

It's a mystery, this case. Frankly, I'm shocked that such an investigation has been assigned to college students, even though I'm well aware that my course holds some of the most gifted law majors of my generation. I suppose that every mind focused on solving the case could be used, but it doesn't make sense how it's not a matter of national security, to be covered by investigative specialists and members of the Federal Deduction Board only.

Four nights ago exactly, a call was made between a member of the FDB and the telecommunications expert for federal security matters. At two minutes and forty-one seconds into the call, an additional, unidentified foreign personnel intercepted the transmission and stayed as a part of it undetected for thirty six seconds, where nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Then, suddenly, the telecommunications expert, named Harlii Eveble of northwestern Whites, cut out of the conversation without a signal. She was declared a missing person yesterday. The contents of the conversation have not been disclosed, and I'd guess that no more than five people know the matter. This investigation itself has been kept hush-hush and out of political tabloids. It was in the first circles of every prominent political corps, and had funneled down to me through my network from The Seminary. I suppose I have an edge in solving this case over my classmates (the exception, of course, being the imbecile who stole all of the investigatory evidence), but this is something that I'm used to. And still, to this day, relieved about. But I can still do nothing without the case evidence.

You know what? I'd bet the castle knows everything. The FDB, at least, probably know double the contents of that file, and I'd estimate that at least a thirty-second of the members work undercover around the imperial palace.

Oh dear God. That's _another_ reason to enter the Selection.

I'd been debating for weeks now: enter or don't. Yes, I'd have to put my education on hold, but the positives have been stacking up. My mother, for one, seems adamant about forcing me to compete. For years she's hounded me to find a husband (even though I've proved over and over how I don't need one), mainly for the sake of social connections, and what better way to reach the elites of society than through the Selection? It's the Seminary part two: a whole new exceptional network, a specialization facility, and another strict group to force me into line. But even though that terrified me, about as much as the Lexington Hall had, I have to say how much better off I am in the diplomatic world because of my attendance. I'd expect the same results from the Selection. Additionally, it's always been a personal dream of mine to explore the castle. I'd be beside myself if I found the place more spectacular than the Seminary, but I've heard only the most spectacular stories about it. And the books! I've heard enough about the books to achieve my wildest fantasies. It could help me gather information about the investigation (which, even if I'm not actively participating in with the rest of my classmates, I've found a sudden fascination for), and so much exposure to diplomats and ambassadors could do great things for me in the future, when I'm a politician (well, crossing my fingers in that regard). And even more, I might fall in love. Give myself the life my mother has always wanted for me. The typical fantasy every girl lusts over, which could be mine in the mere few minutes it'd take me to fill out my Application.

The case. My own tipping point. Now, I _have to_ enter. I guess you could say I have the _ad intentionem_.

I make a quick exit from the library and retreat to my dorm, where I pull out the untouched Selection form from its place in the corner of my desk, previously sitting amongst my other important documents. I grab one of my favorite ballpoint pens (from a collection that was custom-made and designed for me specifically), and begin to write.

 _Name:_ Audrey Dakota Matlock

 _Age:_ Eighteen

 _Province:_ Sumner

 _Caste:_ Two

 _Occupation:_ College Student with a double major in Domestic and International Law

 _Hair Color:_ Ashen brown

 _Eye Color:_ Grey-blue

 _Skin Tone:_ Fair

 _Height:_ Five feet and six inches

 _Weight:_ One hundred and eighteen pounds

 _Languages Spoken:_ Fluent in English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, and Russian

 _Hobbies:_ Dancing (specifically ballet), playing the violin, horseback riding, reading, writing, debating, archery

To finish off the application, I find the stamp of my family's crest and firmly eject the ink to the back of the paper. I shake it dry and strut to the ebony wood chest, generously provided by Avenue Paiyn Law School, where I strip from my uniform and carefully select more appropriate attire for such a life-changing photograph. Deciding to stick with professionalism, I sport an elbow length silk blouse, plum knee-length skirt, and ivory flats. I play with my waves and decide to brush them until luminescent, and gloss my lips quickly (I'm wearing enough makeup otherwise). I pick up the form, to find it pleasantly dry, and calculate the time from my watch. _There. That's another hour and a half before I have to be back for Intro to Philosophical Reference to Law. That should be plenty of time._

It's almost comical. I'm so concerned to get back to class in time, but if I succeed and get Selected, it wont even be a part of my life anymore. But maybe all for the better. Philosophical References to Law is a useless course. But the Selection; it may as well be one of the most important things I've taken part in so far.

 **Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

 **Oooooohhhh Cameron's six! Kind of nefarious. It didn't exactly make me like him so much as a character, to be honest, but I could only guess that you guys don't like him so much either… hahahaa! But at the very least he wasn't… with… another girl. A lot of you seemed to think he was. BUT NO I HAD TO BE UNPREDICTABLE! I hope you realize that Cameron's six have nothing to do who will be main characters (except for Aspen, who, as my protagonist, is a main character and also one of Cameron's six), but some, of course, will be. I'm beginning to draft who my main characters will be, but I've decided that I'm going to need a whole other category to fit so many of your AMAZING characters into. There are quite a few that I'm fascinated by, but don't believe that I'll be able to write properly, and I'm extremely anxious about that. So, I'm creating another category in the hierarchy of the characters. First, there's Mains (I'm PRETTY SURE they will be the only characters with POVs, some exceptions), Upper Supporting, Lower Supporting, Minor, and the Eliminated (which don't fit into any other category). Tell me, which people (royals included!) that you've seen so far would you like to see as a main! Tell me in the reviews!**

 **NEXT! THIS IS IMPORTANT PLEASE READ IF YOU PLAN TO SUBMIT A CHARACTER! This was my LAST chapter of introductions before the actual Selection, so the next will be the** _ **Report**_ **where the Selected are announced! I'm not exactly sure when I'm going to post it, but I'm going to need ALL FORMS COMPLETED BY THAT POINT! I'm going to fill the currently unreserved provinces with throwaway characters, but please PM me if you're interested in taking one of the spots. There are also a LOT of people who have reserved provinces, please try to get your applications to me AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I'd really like to get this competition going, and I cant do that without my Selected! Please aim to get them to me by next week!**

 **Thanks! Submit and review! See you guys next chapter!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	7. La Vie en Violet

**Hey guys! Don't worry, I didn't abandon you, I just really wanted EVERY form complete before I posted this. And I now officially have each of the girls totally complete! I hope this was worth the wait, but more than that, I hope I'm never gone for so long again ahahahaha!**

 **Special shout out to** Artemis hunters (x6), jenhen48 (x2), Cookiedoodles168, 4Love4Love4, Happygreenbirdy, **and** XOStarbrightXO **for reviewing! I'm not sure if anyone followed or favorite (I cant remember), but if so, thanks for that also!**

 **Just gonna tell you all, if it doesn't specifically say otherwise, it is Aspen's POV. This chapter, for example, is Aspen. Hope you guys like it!**

 **Without further ado, the** _ **Report**_ **!**

I thought I might be hallucinating, but all day I've been looking through a vision of violet. Every room has been engulfed in a subtle purple hue, strength varying in the lighting, and every other color seems subdued. It reminds me of a phrase I've seen before, in a book. _La vie en rose_ : Living life through rosy glasses. It's supposed to mean that you go through life in a state of untouchable bliss and contempt, so I'd guess that I'm feeling the exact opposite.

Of course, upon some research as to why I could only see the color purple,the answer came almost immediately: it's simply out of nerves. See, it's a very busy color, and nervousness is a busy state of mind. And on the day where my fate could be so _dramatically_ altered, my psyche has been spinning for hours on end, each thought buzzing in and out in seconds to make room for the next. It doesn't register as _anxiety_ , exactly, but something similar enough. So it all checks out and makes sense, and it turns out I'm not completely crazy after all.

But after hours and hours of a spinning mind, without a mental break, it certainly _feels_ like I'm completely crazy. So far today, I've stumbled through a really cloudy shift at the café, patchy conversations with my family, my friends and coworkers, and scanned thousands of lines from whatever book I chose, which I know already that I'll have to reread tomorrow because I remember none of it. And by now, at five fifty-nine, with each second ticking away to the on-the-dot six o'clock _Report_ , as delicious as they are agonizing, I can't tell if I'm gaining sanity or losing it.

Forty-three seconds.

Forty-two.

Forty-one.

Forty, thirty-nine.

There really is no escape. But I've been waiting for hours, for days, for weeks, for an announcement –no, more of a confirmation: a yes or no answer- that might take all of ten seconds. And I'll sit on the same alabaster (tinged lavender) armchair I do every Friday, the same pea-green (but looking nearly mauve) woven blanket draped over my body, and eyes fixated on the clock, aching for it to tick to six.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-six seconds.

Twenty-five.

My heartbeat shakes my entire body. I can't stop thinking about my almost certain reality: that Blaire will be Selected, or Persephone, or literally _any_ other girl in Waverly. The possibility is so incredibly likely: that I'll never be able to reach the goals I've had for my entire life, that I'll never-

Fourteen seconds.

Thirteen.

Never make Prince Cameron smile, to be the good that he sees in life when he doesn't seem to have any. Never be able to influence a nation as a Lady, or a Princess, or a Queen. Never have the resources to work in philanthropy and therapy, never satisfy a lifelong crush, never leave my home province.

Ten seconds.

My family is poised around me; hands clutched and faces bearing only excited smiles. Never do their eyes betray nervousness or doubt, not even Persephone. I can't imagine the same for myself. Our traditional bowl of popcorn sits on Blanca's lap, made from cobalt colored ceramic and exploding with fresh steam.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

One.

The television snaps to life in an instant, and my nerves fail to waver when they're met with a notorious Brenan Gavin smile. In fact, I quickly notice how the entire Royal Family (Prince Cameron excluded, as usual; no matter how disappointing) sports glimmering grins and lively eyes. They almost seem like a mirror to my own family, down to the _one_ near adult who couldn't seem any more than glum. I try to pick up a bit of excitement, but it does little to push back the fearful anticipation buried in my belly.

"Hello, Illéa! I'm exceptionally proud to welcome you to this very special segment of the _Illéan Capital Report_!" Brenan's jubilance is palpable. "This evening, we will disclose the thirty five young women randomly chosen in a drawing this morning, who will come to the Royal Palace to compete for the hand of our ever-charming, Crown Prince Cameron Alexander Havillard in Illéa's fourteenth Selection!" Brenan takes a bit of time to explain what will happen after the announcement: how each girl may get calls about when the best time may be for dress fittings, to meet their personal aids, to work out any health issues and flight information, and other things like that. Excitement begins to build in my chest, and I hold my breath for more. "Now, please join us in congratulating the thirty-five Selected Daughters of Illéa!"

The screen shifts from Brenan's face to the country's national emblem, with a small rectangle showing Cameron's reactions in the upper right corner. His face still hasn't moved, and I silently bet that it wont for the duration of the announcement. Can't show favoritism, I guess, right?

"Lady Pepper Hearst of Kent, six." A pretty blonde with a shy smile appears on the screen, her brown eyes soft and vulnerable. Prince Cameron's interest seems piqued, but he doesn't smile.

"Lady Natalyn Brandon of Hansport, three." Natalyn is a New Asian girls with a round face and wide brown eyes, her skin completely porcelain.

"Lady Delilah Gregory of Zuni, four." A pair of thick eyebrows lay over eyes of deep auburn and hazel, and the girl's brown waves are thrown into a ponytail.

"Lady Catalina Alvarez of Paloma, three." Another brunette appears, this one looking almost a bit like me. Her chin is sharper and eyes lighter, but it's easy to see the resemblance. What de ja vu. I'm immediately cautious of her.

"Of Clermont, a two: Lady Manhattan Bourne." Manhattan seems so stark in comparison from the other girls so far: she was pinkish-purple-grey waves and brown doe eyes.

"Miss Katherine Arias, a five, is the Selected from Tammins." A dainty girl with long, dark blonde hair appears on screen, and her blue eyes seem positively lively. Her lips form the most perfect close-mouth smile I've ever seen. Like Mona Lisa, or something.

"From Sonage, Lady Kaycee Thomas, a two." Another brunette, her hair falling in gentle curls. She has brown eyes to match, and adorable dimples that I'm nearly jealous of.

"Lady Adeliza Yancey of Dakota, a seven." Adeliza seems almost primal, yet tame, if that makes any sense. Her dark hair is messy and laden with feathers, and you can see that her clear, dark skin is streaked with a bit of dirt. The girl seems ethnic, maybe an Indigenous, which seems interesting. To confirm my theory, I notice her covered in what looks like skins, and a tribal pendant necklace lies around her throat.

"Lady Waverly Evans, a three from Columbia." Waverly is quite pretty, with captivating hazel eyes and porcelain skin. Her hair falls in gentle nut-brown curls. She seems incredibly friendly and has a sweet disposition.

"Lady Wednesday Corbineau is from Sota, a three." I almost laugh when I see that the girl on screen in blinking. I feel terrible, that must be awkward, but almost funny nonetheless. From the slant in her eyes, I can tell the girl might be New Asian of some sort, and her auburn-tinted brown waves fall around her shoulders.

"Of Allens, Miss Raven Cortez, a seven." Raven's the most intense girl I've ever seen, with pale green eyes outlined in dark black, the same color as her long, sweeping hair. She smiles, but it seems more like a simper, or smirk.

"Lady Emberly Saffron is our Selected from Likely, a five." The girl on camera looks simply angelic, her honey hair in curls, and her creamy skin glowing. Her eyes are the color of glistening sapphires, and I notice how much of a contradiction she seems to be: clad in a leather jacket pairing her innocent charm.

"Lady Makayla Durand, a five from Atlin." In surprise, another New Asian girl appears, but she's completely sunny blonde, with blue eyes. It's kind of striking, actually.

"Of Hundson, Lady Lucie Crimson, two." Lucie projects as strongly Indian and exotic, which I realize will probably be good for the war and alignments. She has near-black hair and matching round eyes, and her skin is tan. She bears a perfect white smile.

"Lady Scarlet Chatterly of Honduragua, five." Scarlet seems as beautiful but simultaneously standard as the rest of us. She has curly brown hair and dark brown eyes.

"Lady Audrey Matlock of Sumner, a two." Audrey is yet another brunette, except her eyes are small and colored grey-blue, with long eyelashes that frame them beautifully. She has creamy skin and high cheekbones, and carries herself with an air of professionalism. She's gorgeous, and already ladylike.

"Of Labrador: Lady Clio Smirnov-Athans, three." A blonde appears on screen, her hair shinning and long, with full, rosy lips and piercing blue eyes.

"Lady Hannah Wade of Fennley, another three." Hannah has tan skin and deep, dark eyes. Her raven hair is pulled back in a professional-looking ponytail.

"Lady Allena Quick, a five from Bankston." A dainty blonde appears on screen, with green eyes and dark roots, and thick eyebrows to accent her sharp-featured face.

"Lady Bonita Stone of Whites, a two." I'm surprised to see another girl with colored hair, but this one's is deep violet. Her tan skin and dark eyes say that she might have some sort of an ethnic background, in the same way that I'm a third generation Italian and second generation Bulgarian. She's beautiful, and you can see that her makeup has evidence of a skilled artist's work.

"Our Lady from Bonita, Miss Leanore Fleuret, a two." I recognize her as another girl of Asian decent, but not necessarily Chinese or Korean, like the other girls so far. She has tan skin, first of all, and her hair is more of a dark brown than black. Her eyes are squinted, but not entirely so.

"A five: Lady Drew Montgomery, from our home province of Angeles." Drew seems quite fashionable and well kept for a five. Her makeup is skilled, properly accenting her emerald eyes, and her ebony hair is in a messy ponytail. Her skin is the color of dark carob, without a hint of dryness or acne.

"Lady Mahalia Babineua is our Selected from Midston, a four." With high cheekbones and a white smile, Mahalia looks really cheerful. She has silky black hair and dark skin.

"From Carolina is Miss Adriana Foster, a seven." Adriana smiles mischievously, her dark eyes captivating and her head topped with auburn springy curls.

"Lady Serena Ballora of St. George, a two." Serena has deep ebony hair and porcelain skin, with beautiful blue eyes.

"Lady Harper Jones, a six from Panama." Though platinum blonde and crystal-blue eyed, Harper has really tan skin. I suppose that's due to where she's from, of course, as Panama is pretty far south, all the way near the equator. I wonder what it's like where she lives.

"From Denbeigh, Miss Giselle Knight, a five." Giselle is remarkably pretty, with caramel hair and blue eyes. She has high cheekbones and a perfect smile.

"Next is Miss Heather Berry, a seven from Calgary." Heather has dark, straight red hair. Her skin is flawless and pale, and she has dark blue eyes.

"Another seven: Miss Ellina Foster from Baffin." Ellina seems young and… maybe a bit too mature. She can't be older than sixteen, but her blonde hair is styled, and her blue eyes are surrounded by dark eye shadow.

"From Ottaro, Lady Evelyn Clause, a three." Evelyn has crimped-curly blonde hair and blue eyes. Her lips are full and pink, her cheekbones are high, and her jawline is sharp. Her face is a perfect mirror, and she looks absolutely beautiful.

"Lady Ivy Dupree of Lakedon, a two." Ivy has striking, bright orange hair and pretty hazel eyes with thick, dark eyelashes. Her skin is remarkably perfect, and so is her makeup… You can tell that she's wealthy by her clothes, and the diamonds dangling from her ears. She looks so friendly, though: with a kind, bright smile.

"Lady Cherika Lowell, a four from Yukon." The girl on screen looks to be maybe the youngest out of anyone I've seen so far… She's quite dainty, with pale blonde hair and icy skin, and matching blue eyes.

"Of Dominica, is the Lady Alessandra Hernandez, a two." Alessandra looks super skinny and fit, with curly dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, with tan skin.

"Miss Thera Ellington of Belcourt, a three." The girl on screen is classically beautiful, with long, dark brown hair, pale skin, and turquoise eyes.

 _This is it…_ The queen's home province always came last, a tradition that's been going on since the second Selection, after the reign of Queen Grace Lowell of Angeles. Queen Nadia was the people's favorite from the start, or so my mom said.

"If you got into the Selection, do you think you would have won?" Cooper asks my mom.

"Please, I never even entered." Mom takes my dad's hand. "Your father proposed to me three days after the Selection was announced. I'm pretty sure he was scared into doing it." She laughs.

"That's ridiculous." My father protests. "I proposed to you because my best friend Tony said he wanted to ask you out one day when we were no longer dating. So see, it was out of jealousy, I wasn't _scared_."

"Oh good, because that's better."

"Finally, from our beloved Queen Nadia's home province of Waverly: Lady Aspen Marx, a four." My mind barely registers my own name being called over the chaos. I can hear the shrieks of excitement all around me (with a few gaping mouths from my not-so-friendly sisters), but my eyes stay glued to the screen. I study the way my own eyes are illuminated in excitement and hopefulness, and how I look more beautiful than usual. With my smile, lighting up the rest of my features, I appear radiant.

"Oh my god, Aspen! Congratulations sweetheart!" My mom springs out of her chair, sending Blanca's bowl of popcorn all over the floor.

"Mom!" Blanca protests. Rowan takes her hand and holds her back, whispering something in her ear. Yes, she had been a lot less pleasant since the excitement of her engagement wore off, but at the very least, Rowan had some uncanny ability to keep her calm (for however long that would last). It made us all like him just a _little_ bit more; or at least more than the five percent we did originally.

I'm tackled by hugs and my ears ring from all of the cheering. My lips feel like they're going to fall off from the grin that sits unmoving on my face. _That was it. It was exactly the confirmation that I needed._ My life's course is now dramatically, permanently altered.

The telephone begins to ring from behind me, and doesn't seem to stop all night.

 _Dramatically altered. My life won't be the same ever again._

 **All right guys! There's** _ **the Report**_ **for you! Next chapter will have a whole bunch of stuff in it, because the Selection has really begun! Hope you're excited!**

 **I also just wanted to tell you all who the main cast is, as well as supporting and minor! I had so much trouble trying to decide the main cast, because I got so many girls of an outstanding caliber and so many more than I selected deserved to get the spots… I really am sorry, I loved everyone's characters a lot, and you all did a great job! I eventually wound up choosing even more girls than I had originally intended (eight, including Aspen, as supposed to the six I had hoped for), because a lot of girls deserved spots, but I've come up for a remedy! I decided to come up with a new category for those girls who should have gotten spots that I couldn't give because there were already too many, and it's called the Mains Abbreviated. The only difference between the Mains and the Mains Abbreviated is that the latter will have less common POVs, but when I say that only Main girls will get POVs in a specific chapter (say, in the interviews MAYBE, or other undetermined events) that will typically include Mains Abbreviated. Also, when I'm selecting only a few to cover a chapter (a ball, a Report, etc), Mains Abbreviated will also be considered for POVs. Anyways, off to the official list! Here you go:**

 **Mains**

Aspen Marx

Adriana Foster

Audrey Matlock

Emberly Saffron

Giselle Knight

Harper Jones

Ivy Dupree

Pepper Hearst

 **Mains Abbreviated**

Bonita Stone

Clio Smirnov-Athans

Drew Montgomery

Evelyn Clause

Leanore Fleuret

Raven Cortez

 **Supporting**

Adeliza Yancey

Catalina Alvarez

Delilah Gregory

Makayla Durand

Mahalia Babineua

Manhattan Bourne

Thera Ellington

Waverly Evans

Wednesday Corbineau

 **Minor**

Alessandra Hernandez

Allena Quick

Cherika Lowell

Ellina Foster

Hannah Wade

Heather Berry

Katherine Arias

Kaycee Thomas

Lucie Crimson

Natalyn Brandon

Scarlet Chatterly

Serena Ballora

 **See you all next chapter! Remember to review!**

 **xoxo**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	8. The Greatest Hello but Hardest Goodbye

**For user** **L'examinateur, Supporting Characters are the ones most commonly mentioned. Though they will not get point of views, they'll often be the ones to walk back from dates and gush all about them, be heads of parties and events to plan, and will be subject to probably the most drama. I really did get so many fantastic characters, and I'd like to utilize them as much as possible, and I'm sorry that some of you were offended with the spots your characters got.**

 **Thanks to** UltimateMaxmericaShipper, alexiaroosenhaan, L'examinateur (who also followed and both me and this story!), Issi Herondale, Cookiedoodles168, **and** wolfofstark **for being total troopers and reviewing!**

 **Anyways, here's my next chapter! Thank you all of you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy it!**

I feel like punching myself in the face.

What kind of a person forgets to bring sunglasses to _Angeles_? It's the land of constant summer: the temperature is never less than eighty degrees Fahrenheit, and the sun is going to _actually_ burn my eyes off now. It's too late now, I guess… my blue reflective aviators aren't in my purse, on my head, or in my suitcase, and in less than an hour, I'll be on a plane.

It really almost seems too soon, and yet a million years away simultaneously. That's kind of been the feeling for the past three weeks, since I was Selected. On one hand, the dress measurements and debriefing and things were like a buffer: they were exciting, but it made me itch to get to the palace even more. And now, in the limousine, off to my formal sendoff in front of _all_ of Waverly, I couldn't think about anything but tomorrow's interview. I mean, I don't even know what awaits me when I _do_ get to the palace, but however excited I am, I came to fall in love, to get married, and learn how to run a country, not to get waited on hand and foot and live in the lap of luxury (although, that part is totally thrilling also, I'm not going to lie).

"Lady Marx, we're here." My aid, Serephina, announces quietly, as to not disturb the deep concentration she must think I'm in the middle of, staring intently out the window. I bet I look like I'm calculating a plot, or like I'm upset or something. And of course, I'll miss my family, but I promised to write, and I'm _certainly_ not plotting. Really, I just want to memorize every detail of my province before I leave. I mean, ideally I'd visit as often as possible, but I'm sure that my family would move to Angeles if I won, and I'd have no reason to come back then. We passed Blaire's house, Blanca's studio apartment, the café, the Services Office, the library, and my favorite willow tree at the park on the way to the capital. It's a crazy, overgrown thing: the trunk is knotted and thick, with leaves shagging onto the soft grass. But in all it's imperfections, that was my "place". I used to come read there every day during summers, and I loved bringing dates to watch the sun dip behind the oaks on warm nights. I'll never be able to do that with Prince Cameron; or at least not the way I could with another boy. We'd need some bodyguards close by, and there'd probably be paparazzi or something. It makes me a little sad, realizing my life will never return to the normalcy I'd need to do that.

Of course, it's a worthy sacrifice.

Serephina, on the left hand side, exits the limousine and holds the door out for me. She tells me that she'll be waiting here for me when my sendoff is over, and I thank her quickly before stepping onto the podium, where the mayor is waiting for me before a crowd of countless citizens (almost my entire province, by the looks of it). My family stands in the very front of the crowd, every one of them cheering for me (even Chandler, Declan, and _Blanca_ clap for me, even if they don't get as into the celebration as the rest of my family. I actually wouldn't be surprised if they're only cheering me on because my parents forced them to, as sickening as it is to realize it), and Blaire, a bittersweet smile on her face, is allowed just next to them. But even the comfort in their presence can't help me, and my stomach still clenches so hard I feel as if I might throw up. I have never talked in front of a crowd even a fraction of this amount before, and it's utterly _terrifying_.

 _Don't fidget, Aspen._ I remind myself, needing to restrain from picking at the cream blazer (even with it's sleeves pushed fashionably up to my elbows), issued as part of the official uniform of the Selected. I also have a silk chiffon white V-neck top and black pants. There would be a very limited amount of things to distinguish me from the other Selected, outfit wise, and those were my shoes (which I was allowed to pick), and the different province flowers. I had snakeskin and cream t-strap wedges, and my province's flower, a magnolia, was tied around my wrist like a corsage. We weren't allowed any other accessories or to modify our outfits, and I have to say, I'm a bit relieved. I mean, how am I supposed to compare to a wealthy two, dripping in finery and expensive designers, as a four? Even if I'm well off for my station, I'm right on the cusp of the lower castes. And I certainly feel pretty lowly, looking around the crowd. I brush a hair behind my ear and try not to look so agitated as I take my place to the right of the Mayor.

I can't help but believe that I've taken something from the girls in the crowd. No one boos, and I can't see any angry faces, but I know that I would have been devastated if I wasn't chosen. And if I was a two or three, and even prettier than me and popular, I'd feel like this opportunity was ripped from under me.

 _Wow. Not the best thing to help with my mood._

"We of Waverly are so proud to cheer on the new Lady Aspen Marx, daughter of Landon and Nikola Marx of the fourth caste. She truly is amongst the finest our country has to offer the crown, and we will celebrate her victories and her defeats as the competition wears on." The audience supposedly agrees with him, although I don't really like the part about the defeats. I try to only focus on the victories part, like the crowd is. Some people throw flowers for me, the rest cheer and wave. "Please join me in congratulating Waverly's favorite daughter of Illéa: Miss Aspen Noelle Marx!" My ears ring with applause, and my heart swells in pride. The national anthem begins to play in the background, even if I can hardly make it out over the racket, but I hum along to it anyway and picture the words in my head. "Lady Aspen," the mayor calls to me, nearing the end of the song, "would you like to say a few words?"

 _Yikes._ I most certainly did not prepare for this.

"Oh. Um, sure." I respond, realizing my mistake as soon as it's made. I take the microphone, which feels heavier than I would have imagined, and almost gag. _Why on_ Earth _would I agree to this_? As the song draws to a close, I take a deep breath and address the expectant crowd. "Hi, everybody." I begin tentatively. _What am I even supposed to say!_ "I want to thank you for all of your support, it really means a lot to me. I'll remember all of you at the palace, and I'll do my best to make you all proud!" It feels like I'm babbling nonsense, but the crowd is supportive anyway. I'm not sure how much that says, though, considering I almost passed out and my "speech" couldn't have sounded any better than a notch above horrific.

The mayor sings my praises graciously as Serephina guides me offstage to give a final farewell to my loved ones. He's pretty easy to tune out, because the weight of not being with my family comes crashing down and all of a sudden there's a lump lodged in my throat and I'm fighting tears.

Chandler gives me one quick hug and claps along with the crowd as soon as it's over. I'd like to think she seems a little sad, but I can't really tell.

Persephone's embrace lingers much longer and seems genuine, and I even see her wipe away a tear as we let go. She was far more supportive and excited for me than I ever could have imagined when I was picked, and she's been a presence I looked forward to every day in the past three weeks. My little sister whispers me a good luck and well wishes, now really crying. This seems to be the cue for the first tear to slip out of my eye, dripping lazily down my cheek.

Cooper's hug is firm and sad, and as we break apart I can see that he's crying, which makes me cry even more. My tears are getting heavier now.

Blanca seemed chipper again. I secretly think she's only happy to be rid of me, but she smiles wide, regardless. Her hug is kinder than anything I've ever gotten from her, and she's _cheering_. Another tear drips from my eye, but she doesn't match any such sadness. It's the warmest she's ever treated me before, in tenth folds. It feels fantastic. Rowan's hug is brief but congratulatory.

Declan wishes some good luck in my ear as he hugs me. I don't know when was the last time he's hugged me, but it feel better than I ever expected. He claps supportively as I lock his wife and his son in a tight embrace. Ella lifts Nate's little hand for a wave, making me laugh through the tears. She wipes a drop from her cheek, and waves to me as well, brushing her golden hair behind her ear and blowing a kiss.

My mother cant seem to stop talking, making me swear to write them back at home (even though I already have) and giving me a million and one pieces of advice she failed to mention in the three weeks where it was convenient. I hug her tight and hold her while she starts to sob. As we break apart, she grabs my father's hand and holds it to her lips as she cries. It breaks my heart.

I'm no better than a wreck when I get to my father for a final hug. Tears ravage my cheeks and I feel like I can't breathe, but he holds me tighter than anyone else and whispers encouragements into my ear. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, my chest heaving up and down. I'm sure it can't be pretty, and I'm faintly aware of the clicking of cameras in the distance, capturing it all and only adding to my stress. It's too soon when Serephina taps my shoulder. We have a plane to catch, of course. But in that moment all I want is for my father to hold me tight, and sooth my nerves. Whatever sanctity I've had is ripped away as we break apart.

Back in the limousine, even though I try to control myself, I wind up sobbing myself into a state of half-sleep.

It did not rest me, however, for the stress of the plane ride. I had only flown once before, when my mom took us to visit her family in Fennley, and it was not a pleasant experience. Travelling with seven other people is enough to make the trip a difficulty, but our seats were all coach, there were babies on the plane, and the flight was wildly overcrowded. I can't help but dread this particular journey.

I'm not exactly sure why I'm surprised, but obviously this flight to the palace is nothing like that one awful trip to Fennley. It's a private jet, first of all, with plush recliner chairs of cream leather. There are only four seats, two of them already occupied (because I'm the third so far to arrive), and I watch as a flight attendant hands each of the girls a steaming mug before I take a deep breath and Serephina nudges me towards the entrance.

I hope to make a silent appearance, but that doesn't happen. I'm not more than two steps into the plane when the two girls set down their mugs and practically run to me. I'm not sure whether to be shocked, excited, or scared. I'm actually a little of all three.

The first girl, a doll-like thing with porcelain skin and the _brightest_ orange hair I've seen in my entire life is the first to act. She smiles the whitest, brightest, most excited smile I've ever laid eyes on and wraps her arms around me, and it takes a few seconds to realize what's happening and hug back. I must give a really weird look, because the blonde behind her smiles and laughs. "I'm Ivy Dupree!" The redhead informs me, right after letting me go. Of course, she didn't have to tell me this, because I had already memorized the names, faces, provinces, and castes of every girl in this competition. Persephone stayed up for an entire week past midnight (when we both had jobs early in the next days) and helped me study. Ivy Dupree was a two from Lakedon, actually one of the richest girls in the entire country.

"And I'm Clio Smirnov-Athans." The blonde tells me before also wrapping me in a soft hug. Her eyes are icy and gentle, and her skin is unimaginably soft. Clio: a three from Labrador.

"Well, I'm Aspen Marx." Ivy laughs.

"Duh!" She smiles wide and pulls my arm to one of the chairs, before calling over a flight attendant. "Aspen, want anything to drink? Clio and I are having Arabian Chocolate Spice Coffee with whipped cream and ground cinnamon on top. They're actually incredible, if you're ok with a tad bit of a kick!"

"Actually, that sounds delicious, but I'm not really a fan of coffee." I tell Ivy, before turning to the flight attendant. "Could I have a hot water with lemon and honey?"

"Of course, Miss Marx."

"You know," I say, turning back to the girls. "I just don't trust the caffeine from tea and coffee and stuff, I avoid it if I can. I actually work in a Café."

"Really?" confirms Clio, smiling into her drink. "Why would you take a job at a coffee shop if you don't like coffee?"

I tell them about the peach cobbler and my parents, and the camellias and the sunlight and the rainbows that bounce from the glass. By the end, they seem to agree that it makes sense to work in such a place. My heart aches a bit in longing, missing Café Impresso.

Clio tells Ivy and I about her job at "Illéan Woman", a health, fashion, and advice magazine where she works as an entry-level writer. Ivy doesn't have a technical profession, and jokes that she'll never need one as long as she lives, but she's really into magic and is a magician in training. "Alas," she sighs, "I'll never be able to go professional."

It's almost a half an hour before the fourth girl, Natalyn Brandon, a three, arrives from Hansport. The New Asian, with the soft eyes and long hair, tells us about her studies in aeronautics. And after Ivy puts on her sleeping mask and Clio pops a pill with a few sips of water, it occurs to me that I'm the one with the least flight experience here, by a mile.

There's lots of noise, and my ears throb, but the takeoff, landing, and duration are all uneventful. Clio puts away her magazines and shakes Ivy awake lightly a few minutes after we touch ground.

Ivy is the first off the plane, and I can immediately hear the cheers from the adoring crowd. Clio follows, receiving a similar reaction, and I come right after her, with Natalyn behind us by a little bit.

The crowd is screaming, and the four of us have very mixed reactions. Clio seems a bit shocked, but definitely pleasantly so. She even shakes a few hands and signs some autographs. Ivy seems almost a little terrified, which shocks me because she seems like such a friendly, warm presence. She stops to wave and sign a few pieces of paper, but not so much lingering or stopping to chat, instead scurrying off as soon as she felt like she could. Natalyn hurries along, not stopping at all, but she smiles.

I can't help myself, and I sign the autograph of the first person to call my name. I'm surprised to find my name on plenty of the posters, but I cant help but feel a bit giddy. Almost all thirty-five of us are peppered in there, with a few girls in particular. Serena Ballora, Bonita Stone, Emberly Saffron and I seem to be the most popular, with lot of other girls coming in seconds.

I strike up a few conversations and take countless pictures, and by the time Ivy calls me from the other end of the isle, waiting by the door of the limo, my hand is aching. It's hard to tear myself away.

We all chatter nervously during the car ride, all a bit to excited to finally get to the palace and see what it's really like. Pictures, obviously, will never compare to seeing something in person. Luckily for us, the ride is only ten minutes long, and soon enough we're entering the gates.

Once we arrive at the front, Natalyn steps out, then Clio, then me. Eager to see, and willing to brave the harsh Angeles sunlight (without my aviators, regrettably), my brain lights up brighter than any star at any position. The world has never seemed so bright and full, and the sun glistens more powerful than it ever has.

This is the Illéan Royal Palace.

 **Yayyyyyy so they're at the palace now! I am so freaking EXCITED GUYS this story is like literally FINALLY starting I cant wait to write out everything I've got planned and stuff… Yay!**

 **Please remember to review and follow and everything, it means so crazy much to me, even if it's only criticism I like and appreciate all feedback!**

 **Love you guys!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	9. Knockout

**Woah guys my view count is 1234 I love when numbers go in order YAY!**

 **Anyways, next chapter! Here we have Aspen's makeover… Yay. It's a bit longer than usual, at about 4,000 words which isn't incredibly hug or anything but I hope you guys enjoy it!**

 **Thanks to** XOStarbrightXO, milo ashby, Sora Kalopsia, **and** Cookiedoodles! **Your continued support means the world to me, I love you guys so much!:)**

 **Here's chapter 9!**

The limousine pulled up in a circular driveway and dropped us in front of the palace, which is unlike any building I've ever seen. It's a mustard-cream châteauesque with slate shingled roofing, and lush northern red oak trees surround the driveway in threes. The wings of the palace stretch outward, but I know that there's more of a W-shape to the building from pictures online. Each window to the wings (plentiful, of course, and they glint the sun like mirrors) is reflective and colored a spotless cobalt, with cast iron terraces and windowpanes of painted black. And _this_ will be my home, either permanently or until I'm eliminated. I'd prefer not to think of the latter as a possibility, and I really don't need that kind of negativity with the building nerves in my chest. Obviously, my heart is racing and my mind is swimming with contempt and giddiness, but I can't help but feel a bit of panic, not knowing exactly what to expect.

I watch as Serephina (and the rest of the girls' aids) lugs our suitcases in through one of the doors on a wing to the left, and Ivy perches her designer sunglasses (Vera Wang, she told us) on top of her brightly colored head, looking like a total movie star. The black double doors in the front of the palace are thrown open as a woman, who couldn't have been five years older than the oldest Selected, fixes her navy pencil skirt, hugs her clipboard tight, and speed walks over to the four of us. Her golden hair is tousled, and her sharp cheekbones indicate that she's not the type of person to smile. Her deep brown eyes, though really pretty and surrounded by thick, dark lashes, are hard and cold. As she approaches, she opens up with a loud throat-clearing.

"Ladies Dupree, Smirnov-Athans, Brandon, and Marx, if you'll please follow me." She says, before spinning on her heels and stalking off. Ivy follows quickly behind, and the rest of us struggle to keep up. "I'm Avery Caxton, the Selection's Coordinator. You girls are the sixth group to arrive out of eight, we need to get your Before Shots, meet your maids, and it'll take at least an _hour_ to complete your makeover. Right this way."

The palace corridor blurs by in a mess of butterscotch onyx and golden candelabras, too hard to take in in the split seconds I have. Silk champagne roses and white peonies blossom from golden-grey spun glass vases, with intoxicating fragrances suffocating me with their scent in every passing hallway. Avery tried to give us a very brief tour of the palace, but I could barely hear what she said over the commotion and bustling servants. I vaguely recall hearing about a Great Room and a Retiring Room; the Men's Parlor and the Women's room, and floor-to-ceiling glass door wall displaying the most exquisite garden I've ever seen.

My awe is cut a bit short upon being shoved into the Makeover Room with the other girls. I _actually_ feel a bit like suffocating (or at least, gagging) from the smell, but my mind reels with a different type of excitement. Instead of freshly cut flowers, the studio reeks of clashing perfumes. I recall that the Selection's Coordinator, Avery, saying that we were group six, so the majority of the rest of the girls are either currently getting "redone" or are already finished. Considering there's no flames licking the vanities (not sure _exactly_ how flammable perfume is), or bullets raining from the sky, or any screaming, I let my mind relax a little and calm down.

"Now, Ladies, please take a seat in each of these chairs here, in front of the backdrops… Lady Clio, if you could stop itching your nose for just a second, and Lady Ivy, I think we'd prefer if you remove your sunglasses, thank you." And click, and click, and click. Quick snapshots are taken one after the other, far before I'm ready. I'm almost sure my eyes are closed during my photo. "Alright, thank you girls." Avery smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Holding the clipboard out in front of her, instead of pressed to her chest; she turns to the stage manager. "I'd like Lady Ivy at station seven, Lady Natalyn at station one, Lady Aspen at station four, and station eleven is clearing up… If you could take Lady Clio there." And just like that, we're ushered away.

"Here's station four, Lady Aspen." One of the stage managers, acting as my usher, informs me as I take a seat on the white wood vanity chair. "Your personal stylist is just finishing up at nine, she'll be over in a minute or two, and she'll bring your maids over when she's ready."

"Alright, thank you, sir." The stage manager smiles and walks back to join the camera crew.

I'm not really sure what to do, though, while I wait. My phone is with the stuff Serephina brought to the left wing, and I don't have any books on hand, so I'm stuck. I spin the chair around a little; admire the florescence of the light fixtures in the otherwise dark room.

"Are you still waiting?" I wheel around to see the voice coming from behind me. It's a tall, thin girl (one of the Selected, I quickly realize) with clear blue eyes and glossy chestnut waves, a clear sign of a real, talented blowout.

"Yeah, but I'm sure it'll be any minute now."

She laughs. "Sure, probably!" We spin around absentmindedly. "My maids are out getting me an outfit, I guess. I'm really hoping soon; these robes are _super_ silky but _super_ thin." She rubs her arms for dramatic effect. "I'm Giselle, by the way." _Whelp, already knew that_. "Giselle Knight, from Denbeigh."

"I'm Aspen Marx, from Waverly." I smile, happy to have made another friend. "So how did the, you know, _making over_ part of this go?"

"Well, I'm a five, so they had _lots_ of work to do." She chuckles. "Florists can't afford _Mani Pedi's_ whenever we want, and hair cuts every six weeks."

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, I'm a four, which up on the system by one and everything, but we're still one of the lower castes, technically." She smiles, understanding.

"Right, yeah! So you understand! And because I've never done anything like this before, it was a little stressful and a little more than weird. I mean, they threaded my eyebrows… I think it's a serious improvement, obviously, but it was a new concept. Before fifteen minutes ago, I had only heard of plucking and waxing and I'd never done either! They treated my eyelashes and my hair to make them both thicker or something like that. But look, now every time I blink I create tornadoes!" Now I'm really laughing. "I don't know, that's about it I think."

"Alright… That doesn't seem too terrible! I think I'll be ok."

"Ok? They have to do, like, _nothing_ to you! You're gorgeous: before you told me you were a four I could have sworn you were a born two!"

"Oh my god, stop it!" I blustered, feeling a thick blush cover my cheeks and forehead. "What about you, I remember your _Report_ photo and I _swear_ you were one of the prettiest girls announced."

She smiles and rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to rebut, but three young women in navy miniskirts and matching cap-sleeved blouses swarm her. From the amount of girls in the room in similar uniforms, I assume they're her maids. And as Giselle is already dressed by the time my personal stylist comes by to discuss my image, I get to see her outfit. She actually looks stunning, in an off the shoulder clary sage green shift dress that makes her eyes look greyer, and pale tan suede lace up heels with cutouts. She has a gold watch and matching gold bracelet stacked on her right wrist, and little diamond studs in both of her ears. Classy, simple, and casual: maybe this'll be a lot more fun than I'd originally thought.

After Giselle is ushered away, promising to catch up with me later, I only have to wait another two minutes before my stylist arrives. "Lady Aspen, I think we can afford to take it in quite a few directions here." She tells me, getting right to business. She's a blonde woman, her hair falling just past her shoulders with frizzy bangs. She wears a professional looking black and charcoal pantsuit, complete with shoulder pads and the whole regalia. She's tiny, more than half a foot shorter than me, and aged into her late thirties to mid forties range. She seems nice, but she has frown lines. "The true question is, how would you like to come off? This makeover is really about enhancing who you are, so who are you? Would you describe yourself as creative? We could make you seem arty: with items that are more handcrafted and unconventional. If you see yourself as an intellectual, we can go sophisticated, clean and polished. You can go chic, high fashion, and expensive, or more simple with bright colors and a "girl next-door" look, as well. Were you thinking of any style in particular?

"I don't really know," I admit. "Maybe kinda chic, but a little more layed back than that. I'm sorry, I really wish I could help more but I haven't really thought about it."

My stylist chuckles, "I guess that just gives us more to work with, then." This makes me excited. Ever since Giselle told me everything went swimmingly for her, I've decided to get into the spirit of things. I can just picture it: my own personal Fairy God Mother, bippity-boppity-boo reveal, as part of my magical Cinderella Story. There's so much that could happen! So much that this _hour_ could turn me from the every-girl from Waverly to the girl that every _other_ girl wants to be. Insides warming and a smile sitting unmoving on my lips, I let myself be carted away. I'm rushed by women who scrub me of any dead skin I didn't know I had, and when that's over, I'm drenched in oil and lotion. My skin glows golden after, but I feel practically raw. While I change into the same, grey silk robe Giselle was wearing half an hour earlier, they throw my hair up in a sleek bun to keep it from my face while they wait to wash it, and in the mean time work on my nails. I've never been a fan of bright colors or anything, so I ask them if they can paint my nails French, which they get right to. The stylists paint my toes a more neutral color, because my outfit hasn't been picked out yet, and push all the cuticles back. My eyebrows get waxed, as well as my lip (which hurts like nothing I've ever I've ever felt, and are left splotchy and red in reaction, until one of the stylists rubs some sort of special lotion on it to reduce inflammation).

Next, the girls remove the clip from my hair and let my waves fall down my back. They tilt me back in a chair and rinse me down, before washing and conditioning with Moroccan Infusion silk amino acids. They trim my hair a bit (just to make it look more refreshed; I refuse to cut more than two inches off my hair at one time) and spray it to make it even shiner than the shampoo had. You know, it's kind of funny, though, because I haven't cut my hair in _years._ Not since the –rather unfortunate- bob incident of eighth grade. I used to love keeping my hair short, actually, but that was the year I found out that during the Vietnam War, special forces in the war department had sent undercover experts to comb American Indian Reservations looking for talented scouts: tough young men trained to move through rough terrain and had near-supernatural tracking abilities. After they got their military-grade haircuts, through, it was all lost, and after multiple experiments conducted by the United States government, it was discovered that the men with their natural, long hair retained these keen senses and outstanding abilities, while those who didn't were at the mercy of their environment, as their skills had evaporated. I gathered two conclusions from this: the United States; government, during the Vietnam Era, was not to be trusted, and keeping my hair long could potentially increase awareness and survival instincts, and even though I was just a thirteen-year-old white girl living in a safe neighborhood and a safe country, I thought I'd never get my hair cut again. My mom wouldn't have this, of course, but I got away with no haircuts for _years._ Frankly, it's a wonder my hair isn't teeming with split ends, but apparently I'm OK and only get one and a half inches off (for whatever reason, I never found my hair gross. But I guess I didn't even realize there were repercussions to long hair, besides taking forever to straiten it). After shaking it dry, my hair is blown out to make it fluffy, then promptly curled tight. I like how it catches the light, which I can see from the mirror. They told me that I had _natural_ highlights and didn't need to color my hair, which I find somewhat of a blessing. A few other girls I've seen here have gotten high or lowlights, or even partially changed their color. The stylists twist and braid my hair into an intricate updo, with baby curls falling loose from my head.

The next batch of beautifiers comes to do my makeup. I don't object when the makeup artist asks me if it's ok to use all these cosmetics I never have before, but I'm no stranger to makeup and I figure it's ok if she uses more than I usually would. My face is soon smothered with primer, liquid moisturizer, bronzer, contour, eyebrow pencil, mauve matte lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara. My lips feel caked and dry, but the finished result is astounding.

Finally, as I'm allowed to remove my robe, I'm guided to a double-sided rack of dresses, my (completely dry) mouth parted slightly agape. There's a few week's worth here, some glittering and others not, in a million fabrics I could never name if you put a gun to my head. I take a few minutes carefully considering each dress (day dresses, the attendant called them, and each specifically tailored for me. The evening dresses are upstairs already) before choosing a number in toned down aquamarine, with a flat pleated tulle skirt, a cinched waist, and spaghetti straps. It has climbing champagne lace on the bottom half of the bodice, which are made of these half-sequin fabric things. After trying it on, I find that it's a bit shorter than I though, but then again, with my long legs, everything seems much shorter than it would on anyone else. The hem reaches the hallway point between my hips and knees, and once they're paired with the nude three-inch stilettos, the dress looks sexier than the girl-next-door look I was expecting. However, as it's not too revealing, I declare the dress perfect and wait to receive the rest of my accessories. Apparently, hairstyle is an important factor in wearing jewelry, and the updo I wear accents a pair of gold feather filigree dangly earrings, which match my dress, and a thin gold ring with a small crystal. The attendant pins a silver nametag on my left breast, reading _Aspen_. She then scurries off and tells me to stay put, but I don't wait very long. She returns with a box full of different colored bottles reflecting the light and sending color to the walls.

"It's necessary that you pick a signature scent to endorse, Lady Aspen." She tells me. After a bit of an explanation, I gather that basically this whole "signature scent" concept is just that a wide variety of designer labels send in submissions for scents to be endorsed by Selected girls. I'd have to pick one perfume, and I might get opportunities to model for it if I'm asked, or at least the same tabloids reporting on my makeover would include things about what scent I'm wearing and where it could be purchased. I count twenty eight bottles in the box for me to choose from, and after the attendant sets it down on the vanity, I get to smelling each, separating the ones I like from the ones I don't. I finally end up choosing Dark Kiss, a fragrance by Penn Cullen Cosmetics. It's dark and sensual: a mysterious blend of voluptuous berries, tempting blooms, sensual incense and night musk for a daring and seductive smell. Fragrance notes include Mirabella plum, black raspberry, amber, peony, vanilla bean, and sensual musk. I think it's perfect, and after a stylist sprays my wrists, neck, and has me walk into a mist, I'm given a slight push in the right direction and return to the backdrops to document the after-results of the makeover. A photographer takes a few shots, and blinking away spots, I get up to let the next girl sit.

My attention is pulled by a crew consisting of a young female cameraman and a charming older spokesman, at least fifty years old. A mic girl holds one of the gigantic speakers over the man's head and follows right beside him, pulling her headphones down to her neck. "Lady Aspen, could we have a word?"

"Yeah, of course… what is this for?"

"Your makeover special." The spokesman says. "On this Friday's segment of the Report, which will be your first live national appearance, each of the girls are going to have a bit of a highlight reel going. Depending on the success of this short interview, this may appear on live television. Don't be nervous, we might not choose to air it at all. Just relax and try to answer the questions calmly." I take a deep breath and nod.

The camera girl starts to count down from five. I quickly fix my hair before she signals that the camera's rolling. "Lady Aspen, you look very pretty today. Why don't you tell us the modifications completed in your makeover?"

"Well, my hair was cut a little. You can't really tell, since it's up, but I think the stylists did a really great job. Lets see, what else… They painted my nails French and my toes a nice neutral color, I got my eyebrows fixed up, they made my skin glow after a good scrub and some oils, and I have a good amount of makeup now." I retell, trying to think up all the things that have happened to me since getting to the palace. "Oh, and I have a very glamorous perfume: it's called Dark Kiss by Penn Cullen Cosmetics." I say with a smile, remembering my endorsement.

"Yes, great choice Miss Aspen." I tilt my head and smile wide, like I'm being photographed. "Could you tell us who you're wearing?" The camera pans so they could get a full shot of my outfit.

"Actually, I'm not sure. It's a very beautiful dress, though, and I love it."

"As do we. You look radiant, Miss." The spokesman commented. I blush a bit and feel like glowing.

"Thanks!" I snicker.

"One final question for you."

"Of course!" I exclaim. The interview hasn't gone bad so far, I'm excited to report.

"What are your current feelings towards meeting the Prince tomorrow?"

"Oh, this is any easy one." I give an easy smile and offer a contented giggle. "I've been looking forward to this for a while now, and lets just say I have high expectations. I don't know so much about the Prince yet, but I'm definitely looking forward to it."

"And… cut." The videographer says. The mic is relaxed and as are the shoulders of the spokesman, and the crew thanks me quickly before going to talk with the next girl. Seeing that I'm alone, I'm directed one final time to a group of the other girls.

"Hello stranger," Giselle giggles, tapping me on the shoulder to get my attention.

"Hey."

"Woah, look at you! Knockout… You look really great!"

"Thanks!" I smile. "So wait, did you get interviewed too?"

"Oh yeah, but they only asked me a few questions. I don't think I did so hot, the cameraman kept insisting that I must be a klutz because I tripped on my heel trying to give a little walk. But I mean seriously, it was just _one_ mistake and literally I'm wearing four inches… What do they expect from a five? I swear, if they make me out as the ditzy, sweet, spacy one, I'll freak out. I am a very mean person, I just think they should capture that."

"Right, that's kinda what I've gotten so far from you." I agree sarcastically. "No offense, but you're _kinda_ rude."

"Ha ha. Very funny." I smile at my toes. And as Giselle and I fall into easy conversation, I can't help but feel a sense of closeness that I never had with Blaire, or our other friends. It's painful to consider, but if, maybe, I can discover myself through a proper makeover and a pretty dress, I can discover true friends in this competition. It just makes me sad that it took coming to the other side of the country to retrieve and achieve something that hasn't been at my fingertips the whole time.

 **Credit is due to a woman named Sally, because she was the wife of a licensed psychologist who worked at a VA medical hospital with combat veterans suffering from PTSD from the Vietnam War in the nineties, and she was the one who wrote up the report about the long-hair thing with the Native People of America, and I copied a pretty good chunk about that, so credit where credit is due! I've always considered that rather fascinating actually, and as Aspen was in the beginning stages of development, I put together a facts board because I figured she was a girl who valued knowledge, prosperity and intelligence above almost everything else and she'd know a bunch of random facts, and this was the first one I pinned! Still think it's super cool.**

 **Anyways, I'll try to post the next chapter quickly, it's already written out, and it has two other makeovers in it! Hope you guys are excited!**

 **Make sure to review, I love your feedback and support and everything love you guys so much!**

 **XOXO,**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	10. Show Ponies

**Heyyyyy guys it's been a little while! The sad thing is, this chapter has been ready for weeks, I'm not sure why I didn't post it sooner.**

 **Special thanks to my reviewers:** Jcuret98, Artemis' hunters (x2), alexiaroosenhaan (x2), wolfofstark, **and** XOStarbrightXO. **You guys mean the world to me, thank you so so much for sticking with me!**

 **This is the next makeover chapter, featuring Pepper and Adriana (who you guys haven't met yet). Hope you all enjoy it!:)**

…

 **Lady Pepper Hearst**

All I know is that Zarcos Magazine has been preparing for this moment for a very long time. The amount of sponsorships we had received from designer labels to design pieces for the un-determined Selected girls in the past three months was insane, and it had left me with a three percent raise and lots more work to do. But as someone who has only seen the pre-steps of beautification and the final product in a magazine, this experience would _still_ be brand new and entirely outside my comfort zone. Actually, everything about this experience so far has been outside of my comfort zone. I have actually had nightmares about having to live through standing in front of a crowd like the one at my sendoff, the flight was a disaster (it turns out, I get air sick), and I'd rather be hung than have to stumble through another airport full of yelling people. My mind still echoes their howls, like banshees screeching in my ear, or jaguars whose tails I had just stepped on.

And now, in front of a backdrop of matte sterling, as the rest of group five sits around me with gleaming smiles decorating their faces, I have to struggle not to cry as the camera crew yells at me.

"Miss Hearst, could you please smile wider?"

"Lady Pepper, your hair is _fine_. Please stop playing with it."

"Excuse me, is something wrong? Why does she look like she's dying?"

It's madness, in every sense of the word.

After the torture of pictures, I get to experience the torture of meeting countless new faces in the span of an hour's pointless makeover. Stress on _pointless_ , considering no amount of beautician's practice could make me beautiful. Pointless. Joining this competition was pointless, being here is pointless, thinking I had any sort of a shot is pointless. My sisters had a fit when I was selected; they all really thought Sage would be chosen, or literally _any_ other eligible girl in Kent that wasn't me. None of them would talk to me after _the Report_. Even my parents noticed the tension around the house, and they had been oblivious for almost eight years.

"Wonderful shots, thank you. Please take Lady Knight to five, Lady Hearst to station three, Lady Corbineau to twelve, and Lady Crimson to eight." The four of us were separated and carted off.

I'm met with almost immediately, and I figure out my stylist is a tall strawberry blond man with a faux-hawk, nose piercing, and a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. It doesn't really reassure me.

"Hello, Lady Pepper! You're looking lovely today." The stylist sings, cracking his knuckles. _He would never say that sincerely to a six if he wasn't forced to._ Oh god, it's another person conspiring against me. He'll give me a dress that'll make me look fat! All my years of hard work, of juice cleansing and three-day fasts, will be brought down by _one_ dress that'll make me the shame of the fashion industry. He could make the beautician in charge of my makeup make me look like a clown or use the wrong shade of foundation, or the one in charge of my hair cut seven inches off one side and a half on the other. He could put me in _orange._ I could loose my job at Zarcos if this gets bad press. One of their own: the laughing stock of Illéa. _Everyone. Everyone I've ever met has wanted to conspire against me. Oh god oh dear god where are the pills? My pills to treat the insomnia!_ Genuinely, I think it was a bad idea for her to give me them, even if they did sometimes help me get eight hours to my usual two and a half. I haven't slept until six in the morning in years. But anyway, since I've gotten them, it has taken an _incredible_ amount of self-restraint not to take one or two or all twenty-three at once. The stress of preparing for the Selection was one of the single worse three-week periods I have ever had to endure. And there have been _plenty_ terrible three-week periods.

I mumble something about a thank you, without meeting my stylist's eyes. _Liars, this world is composed of liars and no one else: everyone is a liar oh god._

"So, is there anything you're considering for your 'look'?" He asks me, crossing his arms.

"Uh..?"

"Well, we have lots of options. Arty, romantic, sophisticated, what do you think?"

"You- um, I- you mean I'm the one who- you're letting me choose?"

He laughs, bemused. "Well, duh."

"Um. Oh?"

"Uhhhh… yeah. You know, I could see you going for something really chic, you know? High fashion. Haven't I heard you work at one of those high-profile magazines? Zarcos, or Persona, or Emirian Vance?"

"Well, yeah." I mutter.

"Great, then you should be used to that kind of style by now. I mean, not everyone's comfortable with that kind of apparel, the stuff that you'd see in Vogue or Zarcos… But you work in the fashion industry, which, may I say, not everyone can do either, so you'd probably feel more comfortable in something of that caliber than you would be in pajamas. You're hot, you're thin… we could go with lots of embellishments or intricacy… What do you think?"

"That-" The words get caught in my throat and I have to swallow, flustered tears nearing my eyes in embarrassment. "Yeah, that sounds good." _Better than good, actually._ My stylist thought _I_ was good enough to wear things like I see the models wear in Zarcos: their slim bodies and sculpted hip bones protruding, and wild eyes alive and bright. There's two possibilities as to what's going on with him: he's flattering me so that I can confidently get dressed up as an idiot, or someone at the magazine payed him. I decide to find out.

The first thing that happened was I was brought to take a bath, where I was washed with body wash specifically catered to my skin type. Before, at home, I just had generic bar soap that gave my skin rashes if I went into grass after using it. Here, I'm lathered and washed in total luxury. I dry off quickly and then I'm smothered in soft smelling white lotion from head to toe, leaving my skin whole and bright. I slip into a charcoal satin silk robe while they sit me in a plush armchair to do my nails. I'm buffed and trimmed, and my cuticles are fixed before my nails are coated in matte polish in the shade "Snowy". Both coats dry quickly, and my eyebrows are plucked for strays.

Next, my hair is washed and conditioned (washed _and_ conditioned! Not that terrible two-in-one stuff that I can afford, that leaves my hair dull and hard to brush), then blown out. I instruct them specifically to cut nothing, as I just trimmed my hair at home less than a week ago, and I don't want layers or bangs or anything, and though it shines in a way it never has, there's no false coloration or highlights. The stylist doing my hair puts it up in a loose updo, with blonde locks falling around my face, which is promptly brought to another station to be covered in makeup. In the next half an hour, I'm left sporting foundation (with contour), eyeliner, mascara, pink-nude matte lips, some light eye shadow, and eyebrow pencil. My cheekbones look sharper and my skin is smoother and more even-toned. My eyebrows are full and sharp, and my eyes (currently a nice, warm brown color, as they're outlined in "Umber") are bright and feminine. I feel flawless and reborn: beautiful for the first time. It's a marvel to see, but it's so hard not to pick at myself. I mean, it's someone else's work, and it looks perfect… but it's on me. Oh-oh god.

In a hollow-shell, I wander aimlessly to the next station, to pick out my dress. I can't hear what anyone else is saying, because I feel trapped underwater. Air has left my lungs and I feel like suffocating. I may be beautiful, I may be where I've dreamed of being, but I feels like I'm drowning and suffering more than I've ever felt before. I feel dirty and impure, and poison writhes through my veins. _Not enough air; not enough air…_

But I'm resurfaced when I the mention of the magazine.

"Wait-um, pardon?" I cough. "Sorry, could you, um, tell me that again?"

"Sure!" The attendant chirps. "Zarcos set up an endorsement program, they said you'd agreed to it already." Ok, so I vaguely remember that, but it was the Monday after the Selection was announced and my mind was still spinning. I hadn't gotten my medication yet, so I had slept for just less than three hours, my sisters (though none of them would fess up to it) cut up almost all of my clothes (with a note bearing a 'congratulations' and an assumption that I 'wouldn't need any of my old wardrobe anymore') and I had to spend almost four hours sewing enough garments back together for two complete outfits, and just that morning I found a messy stich in the azure cotton romper I was wearing. On top of that, I almost fell on the ground when, the second the door to the office was open, I was greeted with greedy smiles and deafening cheering, and was given a surprise gift of a nice pair of drop pearl earrings (by far the nicest gift I've ever received, though I was definitely skeptic at first). And I assumed that, when my supervisor called me into her office, I'd be fired. But actually it was just what this attendant had just said, and she wanted to ask me if it was ok to let the endorsements fall on me. And when the boss asks you a question, you say yes, even though I wasn't quite sure what she was even saying. "Brands have been submitting dresses and ensembles and you've got several examples here. A few are Ellie Saab, you've got Ophelia Taylor and Zamantha Karp, and Browne Brynnie. Want to take a look? They're all over on this rack over here; you've got many options for endorsement. The rest of the process will be explained to you later."

"Oh-um, sure." The attendant takes my arm and leads me to a double-sided gold dress rack, holding at least a week's worth of dresses. I recognize every designer I see by name, and I've seen several of these dresses in the magazine. I'm floored.

I select a strapless nude bodycon with intricate white lace designs, which hugs my waist and I've never felt more proud. I've worked hard, since I was twelve, to maintain my weight, usually by eating squeaky clean (when I do at all), and taking vigorous walks whenever I can (although that's rather rare). Short people can look chubbier than tall people by having the exact same build and weight, because their bodies aren't as stretched out, and I've known this forever. At five feet four inches, I could definitely be shorter, sure, but I've never been tall enough to be a model or the metabolism to eat at every meal. And after six years of hard work and self-discipline, yes, you can see my rib cage and hipbones when I stand up, and finally my arms are thin and my thighs don't even come close to touching, but clearly I've still maintained a curve. And in this dress, I feel proud: everything I've worked for has been payed off in a single outfit. I feel high and my head goes light.

My legs look even more toned in white strappy high heels (about 4 inches, which I've had some practice walking in so that I never looked like a fool, should the opportunity come up) and a gold necklace with a diamond charm and then another drop of gold chain and a flat pearl. Peaking out of my hair is a pair of intricate gold earrings with a flat pearl attached to the tips as drops, almost similar to the ones I got as a gift from my coworkers. Standing in the mirror, I can't help but feel untouchable and flawless, and it's an _incredible_ feeling. I wish I could feel _exactly_ like this every _second_ of every _minute_ of every _hour_ of every _day_.

When it's time to pick out my signature scent, I choose a translucent charcoal bottle with a cream label and antique-finish, called Black Orchid. It starts with top notes of French jasmine, black truffle, ylang-ylang, black currant and effervescent citrus with a middle of black orchid, and a base that combines woodsy notes of patchouli and sandalwood, dark chocolate, incense, amber, vetiver, vanilla and balsam. It smells like how jewelry looks, or how fashion stirs something inside me. A dab is added to my key points and suddenly I radiate glamor. When it's time to take the ever-dreaded After-Shot, I'm not even fazed. This is the first timeI've smiled genuinely in a photo in _years_.I actually allow the photographers to take a few shots before I bounce up from the backdrop and into the wandering gaze of a crew of three.

The cameraman is older, with spiky blonde hair arranged in a style that reminds me of my stylist's from earlier, and the spokeswoman is a middle-aged roughly New Asian woman. I can't see the face of the person holding the mic, because their hat covers most of their face, but they're about average height. They corner me quickly, but I'm too high to notice.

"Lady Pepper, would you mind if we interview you?"

"Um, sure!" I offer a smile as the cameraman signals that we're on.

"Lady Pepper, what exactly happened during your makeover?"

"Wow, well, the first thing that happened was that I took a _proper_ bath. My family never had enough money for fancy soaps or individual conditioner, so that in itself was luxurious, not to mention this _incredible_ palace I have the privilege of staying in, and I haven't even seen my room yet! Overall, this experience has been incredible! My toes and nails were painted in white lacquer, in the shade "Snowy", my eyebrows were plucked, then my hair was blown out but not cut or highlighted, then put up into this updo that looks really nice, my stylist did a really great job. For makeup, a stylist applied foundation, bronzer, eyeliner, mascara, pink-nude matte lips, some light white eye shadow, and eyebrow pencil. As for who I'm wearing, my dress is Ford Teagaile and my shoes are Steve Madden." I recount vividly.

"And as for your perfume?" The spokeswoman inquires. "You smell quite captivating."

"Well, the one thing I forgot! My perfume is Black Orchid by Rue 37." I give a smile. "Oh, and thank you."

The spokeswoman smiles back. "Of course. By the way you were able to describe your beautification process, you seem really knowledgeable about the fashion world. Did your job have anything to do with something in that arena?"

"Actually, yes, thanks for asking! Before I was a Selected girl, I was the receptionist and secretary for Zarcos Fashion Magazine, based in my home province Kent. I've always loved fashion, and I figured that being a secretary and learning things from the great designers at an _elite_ magazine was better than being a seamstress at my city's small Laundromat for repair. I did, originally, but eventually decided that I would never have the option to move up and I wasn't satisfied in the slightest. So, I researched a lot in looking for other opportunities for a six to get into the fashion business and found a secretarial position at one of the top magazines in my province. I fought for two months and several interviews and beat out almost a hundred other girls to get the position I have. It's really a job I love and I liked absorbing everything that I could about the fashion world. Thanks for noticing, actually! I'm really passionate about things like that."

"Yes, we can tell. Quite admirable, not everyone finds that one _thing_ they're passionate about and you clearly have found it." The spokeswoman laughs. "It was very nice to meet you, Lady Pepper, that was about all we needed." The cameraman relaxes his shoulder and the entire crew walks away before I can say thanks or goodbye. I'm feeling good about that interview, actually. _Feeling good. Really feeling good about this whole thing so far._

I walk away, face gleaming and a new future glistening ahead.

…

 **Lady Adriana Foster**

In a nutshell, my maids think my hair has to go. Or, I mean, my _stylists_. Apparently I'd meet my maids later, sometimes after the makeover process is over, but I was having trouble with the distinction so far. Surprisingly enough, that was one of the most confusing things so far in the Selection. Everything else had been somewhat straightforward, or at least I thought so. And anyway, after my bath and whatever, they decided that my hair was basically awful. The stylist couldn't drive a brush through it, for one, which was just as annoying as it was painful, and they couldn't stop gossiping (as if I _wasn't_ sitting right there or didn't have ears) about how it was too frizzy. They fixed it, of course, because that's what these makeovers are for, by doing some deep-conditioning-softening thing, and uncharged the frizz, and added some highlights to make it shinier. They twist the front parts back and let the rest of my hair fall down my back, which is kind of fancy, but looks really nice. Actually, now my auburn curls look considerably prettier, fixing up my entire look. My foster mother, Janet, _did_ always say that I could be attractive if I put any effort into my appearance (which I pretty much disregarded), but I guess she was sort of right. The stylists plucked and died my eyebrows (because they were these pale-overgrown-invisible ugly things), and painted my nails and toes a classic crimson (after spending a considerable amount of time taking the dirt out of the white parts of my nails, from working on the ranch). My face is made up with all sorts of products that I don't even know the name of, and I'm met with by stylists that I don't know the names of, and basically I haven't bothered learning the names of, like, _anything_ and I feel a little guilty.

I also feel guilty that I basically wouldn't talk to my original stylist. He seemed a bit snide, asking me what about myself I thought needed improvement, and what kind of an image I wanted, which was confusing and when I tried to ask questions he was totally condescending so maybe I don't feel so guilty after all. Most other people at the palace, though, have been more than kind. It's like I'm the Official Princess or something, even though _I_ don't even know what my title is now. People have been calling me "Lady Adriana" for the past three weeks or so, but I'm not sure exactly what that _means_. Does that give me some sort of a royal status? Or is it just to say that I'm part of the Selection, to set me apart from the other "common girls"? Janet, who was the primary educator of Cooper, Evan (her two biological sons) and I, taught me some on the hierarchy of titles, and _Lady_ had never been one of them, so either she didn't know or the title really isn't important. Or both, maybe.

Though that condescending stylist put up a pretty good fight, I got to pull the Selected Card and overruled his plea to play down my ginger-hair and give me a girl-next-door look, which I wasn't really in the mood for. The rack of dresses, he told me, were already set out (but I'd get to pick), and this would just make things more difficult for my other stylists. I think that was something of a last ditch attempt, because it was followed by an eyebrow raise and a shrug of the shoulders. Cooper makes that face a lot, actually, and it's an expression I'm familiar with. It means that he's trying to guilt me into something after running out of options. So I told the stylist what I usually tell Cooper: bite me.

After the rest of the process, I stride over to my rack of dresses. Leafing through them, I find that the majority of the dresses look maybe a bit… petite, for my tastes. And by petite I mean… skimpy. Or at least, if _I_ was wearing any of those ensembles I'd look skimpy…

"Excuse me," I call to the attendant, "why do all of these dresses look so… small?"

She cocks her head to the side, causing her auburn hair to fall partially from her black directors cap. "Well, you're not Miss Emberly Saffron."

"Well… no, I'm not."

"Well these are her dresses, miss." She tells me, then points behind my shoulder on the right. "I think yours are over in that direction, Lady Foster."

"Oh, alright. Thank you." I push a ginger curl behind my ear. _Yikes._ _Why on earth is Emberly so_ tiny _…_

Once directed to my _own_ rack of dresses (I triple check to make sure) I begin my search. A few are vintage, with lace and brass finishings, some have the girl-next-door feel in light pink and mint and those other girly colors, and then there's a few black ones that are more edgy, obviously meant to be paired with ear spikes and stilettos. Eventually, I pick a rather girly number, with a crimson flowy skirt and a cream lace bodice. A stylist pairs it with white flowered flats (because trying to walk in heels would be just a _nightmare_ ) and a white opal and gold bracelet, and I finally see what Janet was talking about. Maybe wearing those dresses she's always wanted me to won't be so terrible. Maybe I _can_ be pretty. Maybe this entire experience wont be as end-of-the-world as I imagined it to be when I was forced into it.

After just a bit of searching in finding my signature scent, my wrists and neck are spritzed and sprayed. My perfume called Be Free, the one shot and "freedom" while I'm at the palace. The perfume has notes of lemongrass, neroli, jasmine, ginger, fire wood, clove, black pepper, sandalwood, oud and orris root. It opens with a woodsy feel, the oud has an almost incense quality, maybe because it's blended with the cloves and pepper or some other smell like that. The lemongrass gives it a bit of zing and freshness, making me feel bright and clean. It's like the topper on the cake.

In a few snapshot seconds, my After Picture is taken and I'm whisked away, but not before being called over to be interviewed by an all-male team.

I fix my hair and bound over with a smile. "Hey!" I greet merrily. "You guys wanted to interview me, right? Or at least that's what I thought the other girls were doing."

"Yeah," the camera guy nods, fiddling with buttons on his machine. "Is that ok?"

"Yeah, sure. That sounds fine."

"Alright." He presses another button and makes a signal that we're rolling, so the more sharply dressed man in a navy blazer turns on his mic and starts to ask his questions.

"Lady Adriana, why don't you tell us a brief summary of your makeover."

"Alright, well, first I was washed and lathered, then washed and _conditioned_ , and then washed of any facial flaws…" The interviewer smirks at my attempt at some sort of humor. "No, there was a lot of work done to my hair, though. I got some highlights put in and they fixed it for frizz. I've always hated my curls, but I think they look a lot better now."

"Yes, your hair is very pretty, Lady Adriana." The interviewer says. "Who are you wearing?"

"Well, my perfume is called Be Free, and my dress is… I don't know, actually." The crew chuckles.

"How has the royal experience so far compared to your life back at home?"

"Well, I can certainly say that it's so _incredibly_ different. I got bounced around from home to home for a little while, when I was younger, so I've experienced a lot of different environments, but I'm been living on a farm since I was twelve years old, and it's been totally weird not having to live with the smell of mulch all day. The palace is so clean and fancy, I absolutely love it here. And I mean, I've only been here for a few hours now, but I cant imagine getting used to this place."

The crew smiles and the camera man loosens up. "Thanks, Miss Foster," he says, "that was all we needed. Have a good one."

I smile and wave as they walk away. "Yeah, you too!" Taking just a moment to regain focus, I notice the clump of girls by a clump of couches, lost a bit in conversation. I take a deep breath and join them; excitement coursing through my veins and a nervous anticipation keeping my mind as grounded as can be expected. I wasn't planning on liking this experience at all, it was Janet who had begged me for days, but I always admit to being wrong when I think that I am. And actually, I think that I just might be.

 **Well, there you go! Next chapter, you have the first Selection dinner and a Report as well. It's probably the longest thing I've written so far in this story. But after that, there's interviews! Hope you're all excited!**

 **Please remember to review! Your feedback means literally so much to me, you guys! Love you all!:)**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	11. Night's Out, Lights Out

**Heyo! Here's your next chapter! Hope you all enjoy it, it's freaking LONG!**

 **Special shout out to my reviewers:** XOStarbrightXO, Artemis' hunters (x2), Cookiedoodles168, **and** JenHen48! **Love you guys so much!**

 **Anyways, enjoy chapter eleven!**

Avery Caxton clears her throat at least six times before everyone shuts up, and with each grumble she looks more annoyed. She seemed like a person whose buttons were easily pushed, which I found discouraging but I knew I'd have to deal with it anyway. _She_ was the one who the Royal Family picked to be the Selection's advisor, coordinator, and educator, and there was doubt they had their pick of the best.

"Ladies, you have just gotten your first taste of the beautification process you'll go through at least twice a day with the three maids you be meeting soon. Some of you had more work done than others." Her eyes flit around the room. "This process might have been a dream come true for some of you, and for others, it could have been your personal hell. It's almost too easy to differentiate between the two. Work on that." She pulls out her clipboard and examines something. "If you're all ready, please follow me. I'd like to give you each a less abbreviated tour of the palace, and then show each of you to your rooms." And then, assuming that we'd all follow (which we did, of course), she stalks off.

It's hard to see in the shuffle of thirty-five girls, most of who are my height, but I try to absorb every detail. The Makeover Room is also known as the Women's Room, apparently, and the beautification-stuff was being disassembled right now, as we'd need to use it again tonight. The Queen and her daughters, along with some other royal-friends and foreign ladies got to stay there, but apparently we'd spend almost every second there during the competition. As long as we had nothing _else_ to do, anyway.

Parties, banquets, galas, balls, and groups of more than fifty people used the Great Room. Since there were only thirty five of us, we could fit in the dining hall, where the Royal Family was used to taking their meals. The Great Room had ornate thrones of gold and white, and the room matched such a color scheme. It was one of the most immaculate things I had ever seen, actually, and absolutely divine in intricacy. I regret not being able to take meals there, but the dining room is nice too, if not as fancy. The walls are made of mahogany wood, and the flooring is completely veined marble. Darkwood tables form the perimeter of a perfect square. One of the tables will hold the seven royals, all facing one way, and the thirty five of us have three tables (both sides, of course), in a stiff U shape. Our seats are assigned, and Evelyn Clause, the three from Ottaro is on my left, and Thera Ellington, a three from Belcourt, will sit to my right. Across from me is Catalina Alvarez, another three, from Paloma, who may as well me my doppelgänger. Giselle is on Catalina's right, so we'd be close enough to talk (luckily enough, because I didn't know the other girls who surrounded me), and Harper Jones, a six from Panama, is on her left.

After we left, we descended a spiral staircase and took a quick peek at the room where _the Report_ is filmed, then are ushered back upstairs and shown the strictly off-limits Men's Parlor. And speaking of off-limits, we're not allowed on the third floor either. That was where the royal's rooms were, and we "had no purpose there". The Selected would stay on the second floor, which Avery guided us all to, and the first level has most main functions. Also on the first floor are the Gardens, which I saw before. We weren't allowed there on our own, or without express permission. It's a safety precaution, they said. But Avery assured us there hasn't been a rebel breach in nearly two generations. She neglected to mention the international hazard that loomed overhead, and never said anything about us not worrying about that. It makes me feel sick, because it's far more likely that that'd be the real threat to us here.

Once we're on the second floor, Avery stops. "In these two hallways, we have your rooms. You wont have roommates, don't worry, and your set of three maids will work specifically on you. You'll meet them as soon as you get into your room, and try to be kind; they'll be catering to all of your needs for the duration of your stay. If you have any issues with the décor in your room, tell your maids and it'll be remedied as soon as possible. Your suitcases have already been brought to your room, but not touched or put away to protect your privacy, although you can instruct your maids to put away the contents if you'd like, or do it yourself. You have approximately two hours to relax before you have to get ready for dinner, which should take less time than your makeover did, but not by much. You'll meet in the dining hall for dinner, every one of you are expected to be there by five o'clock and not so much as a second later. You have an hour to eat, and please wait until dismissed before leaving. Your presence will be required in the Women's Room for the six o'clock screening of the _Report_ , which you'll be featured on but you will not be there live. Highlight clips of plane rides, makeover interviews, and other things are being put together as we speak, and each of the girls will have a one-minute spot. Crown Prince Cameron hasn't seen these yet, nor the rest of the royal family, but they will along with yourselves and the rest of Illéa tonight. You'll meet him officially in a five-minute interview tomorrow morning, where you'll be expected in the Great Room by seven sharp." My head spins, trying to remember everything. Too much structure, too many events… I try to swallow and digest each of the plans, and figure I have a good idea of them so far.

"Alright ladies, this is where I leave you. Lady Montgomery, you're in this room here, Lady Stone, you'll be next to her, and Lady Foster across." Each of the girls is ticked off and shoved into respective rooms. Giselle is smack in the middle of the hallway, next to Ivy, and I'm shoved into a room between Leanore Fleuret and Thera Ellington, and across from Raven Cortez. I haven't met any of those girls, but I'm next to Thera in the dining arrangement, so I figure that might work out ok.

Upon opening the door, I'm immediately swarmed.

So apparently, these are my maids. The first, my head maid, is Arden. She's probably more beautiful than I am, with golden blonde waves and sharp blue eyes and a pearly smile. She seems young, but maybe not young enough to enter the Selection. She designs my dresses, apparently, and was just working on a sketch for next week's _Report_ gown.

The next is Kaia, another blonde, but shorter than Arden and with darker eyes. She's incredibly quiet, or so I've gathered, and will by my hair stylist.

And the last girl is Alexa, a cheerful brunette with clear blue eyes and a sparkly aura. Just based on first impressions, Alexa seems a lot like Persephone: they share a caring attitude and considerate nature. She's my makeup artist, which she informs me of with a smile.

I like them, actually. They're sweet, if shy, but I'm excited that they're here for me.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Arden ponders pleasantly.

"Um," I'm not sure what to say… "No, I don't think so. Not right now. I'm just going to read; is that ok?" They nod their heads eagerly and begin to straighten the already squeaky-clean bedroom.

 _The room._ I haven't even looked around yet, but I'm floored when I finally take notice.

The hardwood floor is mahogany, and the walls are painted completely alabaster. My bed, complete with a white headboard, sports a white down comforter and eggshell colored pillows. There's a white vanity in the corner, a white shag carpet under the bed, and a pristine white trunk by the foot. It's clean cut and simple, but modern, and it makes my head feel clear, sharp and focused for the first time since I was Selected. Daring to crumple (slightly) my perfectly made bed, I lay down and I pull out my book ( _Perfectly Flawed_ by Luna Amber Wilde) to read, but after fifteen minutes I'm sound asleep.

It feels like mere moments before I'm shaken gently awake by Arden. More comfortably before, I let the girls dress me: them seemingly more excited than I am. My maids have made my gown with their own hands, a strapless black floor length garment with a sweetheart neckline and a ruched bodice, a fitted waist, and a tulle skirt. There's bits of white on the sides, in a little angular triangle and making my waist look even slimmer. It's paired with white stilettos and silver and diamond drops dangling from my ears. Kaia fixes my hair, so the curls fall down my back, and Alexa touches up my makeup, but doesn't change anything. _Now_ this _is something I could get used to._ I feel _absolutely_ beautiful and acutely refined.

The girls stand back smiling, admiring their work. "Wow. Color me impressed." I chuckle, suddenly feeling sentimental. "You guys are absolutely incredible."

"Thank you, miss." Kaia smiles, answering for the rest of them. "It's about four fifty, you have ample time to make your way to the dining hall. Do you remember where it is?"

"Yeah, thank you." I reassure them. They reapply my scent before I head off, finding Ivy a few steps ahead of me, so we walk downstairs together.

The two of us join a stampede just outside the door, probably about twenty six of us with four minutes for the rest to show up. I grab Ivy's hand and pull her around to find Giselle, who's by a window chatting with Evelyn Clause.

Once she catches sight of me, her face lights up and she calls Ivy and I over.

"Aspen, Ivy, this is Evie!" The blonde girl, with her perfect golden hair pulled into a bun and skin tone complimented in a blush-mauve chiffon dress with a criss crossed bodice, smiles and sticks out her hand for me to shake.

"Hey!" I try to offer her my warmest smile, but Ivy looks considerably more timid.

"You're sitting next to me at dinner, right?" Evie clarifies.

"Oh yeah, I guess I am."

She smiles wide. "Ok, cool."

Avery clears her throat another several times and gives us a small, cold pep talk about how we're inexperienced in etiquette but we need to try out hardest not to be "so _entirely_ embarrassing". A few girls, Evie included, chuckle, already not taking our coordinator seriously. But finally, the double doors are thrown open and we're allowed inside the dining hall.

Evie and I split off to take our seats, whispering excitedly as we go. All seven of the royals are already there, taking a second to observe each of us as we walk through the doorway and take our seats. It's so bizarre seeing them up close, but I can't tear my eyes away.

All at once my body flushes and looses any warmth, and my brain feels paralyzed. Prince Cameron looks me – _directly_ \- in the eye. His mouth is in the same, unmoving line; his eyes are guarded and glassy, and suddenly I feel absolutely lightheaded. I reach up and pinch myself once on my jawline by my ear and break my eyes off him. As far as I can tell, his stare doesn't linger any longer than that.

Once everyone's seated, dinner is served: a black pepper flank steak and side of grilled vegetables, and a glass of ice water with lemon for everyone who didn't want iced tea (I just wasn't in the mood). My parents, bless their souls, could never have dreamed up such a recipe if they tried. The steak is a bit tough but cooked well and is kicking with flavor, and the zucchini and onions taste sweet and drip with olive oil. I try not to eat the entire contents of my plate, but cant help myself. Evie, Giselle and I discuss the excitement and the food, and other things in easy conversation. It's really nice, actually. More refined than I've ever talked with Blaire and the rest of her friends (who much preferred the topic of gossip, which I've never minded but got a bit petty after a while).

Dessert comes next, berries and vanilla ice cream. It's such a simple dish, but does its part to be one of the best things I've ever tasted: it melts in my mouth, and is light enough not to give me a stomachache.

One by one, the royals pluck up and exit (they have the _Report_ to prepare for), though the rest of the girls aren't allowed to until everyone's finished. At around five forty-five, Avery declares that we're leaving. Thirty-five sets of heels clamor and clack on the marble flooring until we're back in the Women's Room, which is mostly cleaned since the makeovers this morning. We all take our seats around the couches, all pointed towards the flat-screen on the western wall. Though Avery seems troubled by it, we get to talk until the _Report_ finally snaps on at six.

"Hello Illéa and welcome to this week's segment of the _Illéan Capital Report_!" Brenan is as jubilant and energetic as ever, and it's so weird to think that he's only a floor and a few rooms away. "Today, the thirty five girls of the Selection have come to the palace, and tomorrow they'll meet their prince for the first time. But for now, here's a few things we've gathered about each."

Girls shift around the room and bear smiles. Giselle squeezes my hand supportively, and Evie smiles at the two of us on her other side. Ivy, who sits on the ground in front of the couch, turns back to grin gleefully at me.

"Lady Raven Cortez was quite stark to our idea of a 'lady', but we're satisfied with the risks she took in her makeover. Her dark auburn-brown hair was cut and highlighted, and her tattoos showed from under her bold, black dress. We'll definitely keep an eye on this one, and we're very excited to see what else happens with her throughout this competition." A clip runs of Raven getting made over, and some of the things she said in her mini-interview. Though maybe Brenan's speech, if alone, could have done some damage, the after-makeover interview patches it up. Raven laughs along with her camera crew and seems totally personable and relaxed, and plenty funny, if her interviewer's smile is any indication. I turn to look at Raven, who's high fiving the girls around her and looks satisfied.

"I think we're all a bit surprised to find that we've never heard of Lady Drew Montgomery before. She had a natural stage presence at her sendoff and carried herself like a natural-born two. Confident and strong, Lady Drew doesn't look like one to back down an we're interested to see how she reacts with the other girls in the competition." As Brenan speaks, a clip of Drew (one of the most beautiful fives I've ever seen) reels, waving across the stage like a movie star as the crowd cheered at her feet. She didn't look smug, exactly, but definitely confident, and didn't seem to share my nerves upon being on stage.

"Miss Leanore Fleuret had trouble breaking away from her mother, father, and younger brothers before she left for the airport." The Polynesian girl looks like she's near tears on the tape, stopping to give long hugs to her relatives and have a conversation with each. My heart pangs towards my own family, and though it's only been a day, I miss them like crazy. "Though she remained cool and collected through the rest of our interviews and makeovers, she certainly let her emotions show when it came to her family."

"Lady Adriana Foster, though seemingly out of her element, has clearly had a great time so far." Adriana's interview from her makeover comes on screen, and cuts to her talking about her changes. Like Raven, she seems charming and funny, making her interviewer laugh a little, while maintaining a happy smile. "We were all touched at her sendoff, when she said goodbye to her foster family, and you could tell how close a relationship she's formed with each of them." If not for the last name, I could have sworn that Adriana was biologically related to those she said such a sorrowful goodbye to. Each have their ginger hair and easy smiles, and she seems to fit in with them so well.

"Lady Giselle Knight made a splash at her sendoff in Denbeigh, and then later the airport. Her enthusiasm was obvious, and she embraced this opportunity very easily. She had to be torn away from her admirers, and seemed very bubbly and animated while conversing with them. She's an immediate crowd favorite and clearly such a sweetheart." Giselle makes a small squeak next to me, and the other two girls and I embrace her in congratulations. She's a natural with the people, and everyone she talks to loves her immediately. I'm _almost_ jealous, but I'm too busy being happy for my friend.

"Lady Pepper Hearst was reserved and clearly shocked today, seemingly unable to take in everything at once. But during our interview after her makeover, she seemed much more adjusted and lively. And once her interviewer brought up the topic of fashion, she couldn't stop talking!" Pepper's clip comes up, where she describes her makeover in vivid detail that only someone with experience in the field could have had, and she gave a detailed recounting of how she got her job and how much she loved it. The blonde, who stood by herself behind some of the couches, smiles in pride as she stares at her feet.

"After overcoming a few nerves, Lady Clio really got into the spirit of the Selection. Though there may have been a bit of tension between her parents and step-mom, Miss Smirnov-Athans recovered quickly and let herself becomes immersed in her fans. She stopped several times at the airport to sign autographs, and jokes how her hand actually _hurt_ afterwards, in her interviews." I smile to myself, happy for the kind girl from my plane, who shares a small celebration from the girls she's sitting with. Her interview makes her seem mature and kind.

"Miss Ivy Dupree seemed rather timid all day." Brenan remarks lamely. Ivy takes a sharp inhale, and I squeeze her hand in front of me, trying to support her. "At her sendoff, the lady was reserved and didn't stop to say goodbye to anyone, and almost seemed as if she'd prefer to be anywhere else than on stage. She didn't stop many times at the airport, but fans went wild, trying to support her. And finally, during her interview, she seemed a bit more than tense as she tried to answer each of the questions as quickly as she could. She was incredibly kind, and seemed to really support the other girls, but we can tell she's going to be the one with a private life she might not wish to divulge… We're not sure what it might take to get her out of her shell, but we cant wait until the day." My heart courses pain for the girl in front of me. But what the clips don't capture is how kind she was on the plane, and how accepting she was of me before we'd even met. Or her calmness while we flew, or her generosity towards everyone, besides the fact that she had the most authority of anyone I had ever met, besides the royals. It didn't show how pretty she looked tonight, or how she encouraged Giselle before she came on. It's not fair.

Ivy is frozen in place. Though the three of us each give her a tight hug, you can see her distress. She excuses herself quickly and heads to the bathroom, and I assume that she'd like her space for a bit before having to brave anyone. It's horrible that _that's_ what the cameras chose to show, while everyone else got nice highlight reels. I wince sharply, my head hurting in empathy.

But Brenan moves on. "Lady Emberly Saffron was _nothing_ like the dainty presence we all expected. Her sendoff was rowdy and showed her spunk, and she had much more of a _modern_ family dynamic, with twelve adolescent boys, none of whom she seemed to be biologically related to, practically rioting in her wake." A feminine laugh appears a few girls to my right, where Emberly sits clutching her sides in a state of hilarity. "Not only did she have countless well wishers at her sendoff, though! At the airport, Miss Saffron was one of the girls with the most supporters, and she's made a really lasting impression on all of us. We're excited to see where the Selection takes her."

"That is absolute gold." Emberly, who's sitting alone, and is the first girl to comment on her spot, declares.

"Yeah?" Evie asks, practically shouting just so the girl could hear her over the noise of the Report, which welcomes plenty of angry shushing. "Why's that?"

"These 'boys', part of my 'modern family dynamic': not exactly _cousins_ , or part of some group home. I'm just trying to imagine how hard they're laughing, back at home." She smiles sadly. "Their own Ember: one of the people's favorites."

"I'm sure they're really happy for you." Giselle offers.

"Undoubtedly. But if I was with them, I wouldn't hear the end of it."

"We thought Lady Evelyn Clause was more of a somber girl, before her makeover. Easy going, casual, and cool, she's made a great impression on all of us." I squeeze Evie's hand and we share an excited look. "This three, who betrayed our stereotypes of the caste, carried herself with the attitude of a two and the intelligence of someone we suspected her to be. She was a vision in her makeover, and we're excited to see where the Selection takes her."

"Lady Harper seemed… nervous, at least until we got her alone. We never can tell exactly how being Selected affects one's relationships at home, but Miss Jones spent a good deal of time searching the crowd at her sendoff. Could this mean a feud with a friend? A former flame? Whatever it was, her agitatedness didn't waver at the airport, where she was on edge constantly. But, in her makeover interview, she really seemed to calm down and become herself. She didn't address her public appearances, instead skirting the question when asked about it, but she seemed charming and her business is her own."

"Lady Audrey Matlock was the image of a princess with the nobility of a queen. She carried herself in a way where we're shocked she isn't a long lost member of our royal family, but this two has assured us her relationships at home aren't falsified. Lady Matlock bears a strong resemblance to her mother, who seemed to burst with pride in a very sincere sendoff, and both of her parents seemed to know that their daughter will flourish. We certainly hope so, because Miss Audrey is a lady we'll be watching as the competition wears on."

"Lady Aspen," _Oh my god,_ "was a marvelous presence. Though a bit shy, the lady proved that she's willing to try new things, from being one of the only girls to speak at her sendoff, to stopping to talk to almost the _entire_ airport crowd, to making a few changes in her makeover. She showed maturity and care with her family and another girl who we believe to be a close friend, and she stopped to talk to each individually before leaving, through she seemed heartbroken to be apart from them. However, the lady didn't let that stop her from entertaining the airport, of which she was clearly one of the crowd favorites, and leaving lasting impressions on each of the makeover attendants and interview crew. We're especially excited about this girl, and even more excited to see what Prince Cameron thinks of her."

My insides are swimming. There wasn't a single negative comment about me (besides the casual mention of shyness I hadn't even realized I had), and my highlights all seemed sincere and genuine. I'm not sure exactly how they can do that with the little they had. I mean, I didn't even _do_ anything all day, and they make me look like the future freaking queen. I feel practically faint, with the happy squeezes of Evie and Giselle barely helping to keep me grounded.

"Lady Bonita Stone put on quite a show. She certainly showed that she knew how to keep a focused crowd, and she had a natural stage presence. Though a bit sassy in her interview, miss Bonita looked absolutely radiant. We're intrigued to see where this beauty, true to her name, winds up."

A few more girls still get their features, all positive, before the _Report_ is concluded and Avery snaps the television off.

"Not fair…" I can hear Raven mutter. "I totally wanted to watch something. There's no TV in my room."

Avery looked so annoyed she'd punch Raven in the face. "Our apologies, Lady Cortez. If there's anything we can do to remedy this, please tell us."

"Well, you could give me a TV for-"

"Alright Ladies, if you'll please follow me back to your rooms." Avery interrupts. Evie and Ember exchange a glance, and look like they're on the verge of laughter.

But we followed Avery anyway.

Before we've stepped on the first stair to the second floor, Giselle pulls my arm away.

"What? What's wrong Giselle?"

"Ivy still hasn't come back yet." She whispers fiercely, not wanting Avery to hear us. "Do you think we could go look for her? I'm worried, I just want to make sure she's safe."

"Good idea." I agree. The two of us swim against the current of girls and take off our shoes so that we don't make any noise on the marble. We get a bit lost at times, but we find our way to the bathroom eventually.

"Ivy?" Giselle pipes, her voice sounding worried and gentle.

We get no response. I look over, a bit nervous, at Giselle, who looks exactly how I feel.

"Ummm… Ivy?" I take my turn to announce. She still doesn't respond, or even give any indication that she's in the bathroom. "Ivy, we're going to come in now."

I jiggle toe doorknob, only to find it locked.

Giselle laughs scornfully. "Any chance you know how to pick a lock?"

"Duh." I pull out two of the bobby pins securing my hair back and stretch the first one, biting off the plastic head, I fold the other in half and insert it into the lock. Using the straightened pin, I gently probe each of the binders until each is elevated and I hear a click.

I open the door and let Giselle in first to look for a light switch.

"Aspen, that was legitimately one of the coolest things I've ever seen. You're, like, out of a freaking movie or something. Tell me, were you an international spy in your past life or something?"

"No, I actually think I might have been persecuted as a witch in Europe in the nineteenth century."

"Specific." Giselle flips the lights on. There's no sign of our redheaded friend. "Do you think maybe she went up to her room or something?"

"Yeah, maybe." I say, looking around.

Something's off here. One of the silver handles on the row of sinks is loose (so slightly you can only really tell if you push the entire thing back a bit) and the lower left angle of the mirror is cracked in the very corner. Something dark brown is streaked on the floor of the caving stall behind us (almost matching the stone of the ground), and it flakes off like it's been there for a bit. A small half-moon window is open, and a small breeze sends the cream chiffon curtains (the left of which is snagged by it's brass rod) drifting. My breath hitches.

"She's not here." I say quickly, practically pushing Giselle out of the bathroom. "She's obviously in her room, there's nowhere else she could possibly be, and we'll see her in the morning." I try to let out a casual laugh. "We really need our beauty sleep, beauty queen. Gotta be rested for Prince Cameron tomorrow."

Giselle smiles at me and laughs. "Ah, the white knight of our dreams!" I smile, trying to fight (or even hide) the feeling of darkness in my gut. "Get it? It's a pun: my last name, silly!"

"You're hilarious." I say, stampeding up the stairs. My shoes are still off, but I take off any rattling jewelry as well, making the excuse that they're uncomfortable, and bless the royals for choosing carpeted marble staircases as supposed to wood.

"Sweet dreams, my dear friend." Giselle says sarcastically, closing her door behind her and speaking loud enough to where I can hear a muffled conversation with her maids.

I look both ways before practically running to my own room. I open it as loudly as humanly possible, giving my Arden, Kaia, and Alexa a second to gather to greet me (as they seemed to like to do) so I can count them quickly, and then close it as carefully and quietly as I physically can. I turn the lock, and when Kaia asks about it, I tell her I've always slept with my door locked and it's just more comfortable for me. None of the three bat an eyelash.

They get me ready for bed as gently and quickly as they can, and I'm in bed by eight. However, it's still hours before I can get even a wink, and by the morning, you can hardly call me rested.

There's a chance that none of us here are safe at all.

 _Sweet dreams indeed._

 **Remember to review….**


	12. My Time

**A great big thanks to** UltimateMaxmericaShipper, Artemis' hunters, alexiaroosenhaan, wolfofstark, Cookiedoodles148, **and** XOStarbrightXO **for their kind reviews! Love you guys!**

 **Ok, so this is only Aspen's interview, but I plan to write more interviews next chapter! It's finished already, and I think longer than last chapter, so I hope you guys like it!**

 **This one's kinda average-length. around 2.5k words. But I hope you enjoy!**

Lets just say, I didn't get very much sleep that night. My maids actually noticed the following morning, when my eyes were puffed up like balloons and as dark as night, and my cheeks were streaked and red. My mind has been spinning for hours thinking through scenarios concerning the events that must have transpired last night. I try not to let my mind wander and think the unimaginable (after all, Prince Cameron _said_ everything would be all right. And everything would be all right), but I wont stop worrying until I see Ivy for myself and ensure that she's alive and well. It may sound dramatic, but so be it.

My maids draw a bath and throw in some blush-colored salts, leaving the bathroom radiating an aroma of peonies and lilies. They call me in when they decide it's ready, and I'm submerged in warm water, left alone with my thoughts in the peace and calm.

My mind curses Ivy's name. Something about the situation didn't add up perfectly: the bathroom was subtly torn, but so barely that Giselle hadn't even noticed. There was blood on the floor (or at least, I think it was blood), but we didn't hear any screams and there didn't seem to be any security increase around the palace grounds. My maids were abnormally jumpy, but it seemed to be more of an excitement-feel (probably because they're preparing me to meet my maybe-soul mate) than one that's associated with fear or dread. There were a few key differences between the two: all three sported grins and their eyes flicked between each other in knowing, purposeful ways; licking their lips every so often and showing subtle signs of encouragement. These signs all correlate with excitement and anticipation. If they were feeling dread, I'd see wild eyes and hunched shoulders, maybe even shaking or trembling. So maybe there was a chance that I didn't have anything to worry about after all. Maybe the paranoia has actually gotten to me.

Doubtful, though. Because I'm hardly ever wrong, and I've never been one to make things up or trick my mind in seeing things that aren't there. I don't believe I've ever seen a ghost, and I didn't think there were monsters under my bed like then ones who tormented Blanca and Chandler when they were toddlers. I'm not sure how I could spontaneously imagine blood on the floor and a cracked mirror (which, may I say, stuck out like bleeding thumbs in this otherwise polished palace) and draw such an out-of-the-blue conclusion.

I try to push it away. _How insane is it that I'm only two hours away from meeting the man I've spent years loving and that's the thing furthest from my mind?_

It's hard to help, but I do try my best to stop thinking about Ivy. If something bad happened to her, I'm almost positive I would have heard something about it by now. And for now, I have the time to picture my (hopeful) husband-to-be. It's a lovely thought, trying to walk through how this might go down today.

"Want us to ask you some questions?" Alexa offers with a cheerful smile.

"What?"

"Well, I'm sure your interview questions will be pretty standard. I could run a few by you so you can think about what you want to say?"

Well I guess that didn't exactly occur to me. And shouldn't the conversations be organic? I can't script it… I cant… I can't try to manufacture this, can I?

"No thank you." Alexa smiles in recovery and goes back to rinsing shampoo from my hair.

 _Will the other girls try to manufacture this?_

After my bath, I'm dried and lathered, my hair is blown out and makeup is applied. My eyes glimmer around silvery smoky eyes and charcoal liner, drawing out my chocolate irises, and they bat in feminine ways with the thick coat of mascara. My cheeks are sharpened and highlighted, and a layer blush-brown-with-a-twist lipstick defines my lips. I'm still amazed by my maids uncanny ability to create something like that on my own face. Blanca was the makeup goddess of my family, and she passed her skills down (as best as she could) to Chandler, but neither of them –even at their best- could do something like this.

Then, though albeit uncomfortable, the girls _dress_ me (as in… day two and they've seen me naked at least three times) in white lace undies and matching bandeau (my first thought, besides the fact I'm wearing lingerie, is that I've never been the biggest fan of strapless and it might be a bit more than awkward if my bra turns into a belt mid-interview. My maids assure me that this was my only option, unless I wanted to wear no bra at all). The garments make sense, I suppose, because though my dress isn't strapless, there's only two spaghetti straps, and a bra would be visible from underneath. My bandeau would be worth it to wear something like this: a grey chiffon number with undertones of periwinkle that falls down to my knees, with a delicate fit and flare style, and an open back. A deep V surplice bodice brings the perfect layered look to the dress, with the cute skirt draping below the fitted waist. Kaia pins my silver nametag to my left breast and leaves to straighten the bed. My look is paired with small silver hoops (which you can barely see through the volume of my hair) and a thick bracelet of sterling and diamonds. My final accessory is a silver ring with three small diamonds in the middle on my left ring finger, and the ensemble is paired with yesterday's strappy white heels. Alexa spritzes perfume on my wrists and neck and send me on my way at five minutes to seven, giving me until the hour to make it to the Women's Room before Avery escorted us to meet Prince Cameron.

Upon arriving, I take a place next to Evie, who's the only one of my three friends (so far) to arrive. She looks beautiful, as usual, taking a break from the light vision she appeared to be yesterday in favor of a jewel tone of royal blue chiffon in a strapless dress with a curved neck, a tied waist, and a criss crossed bodice, accenting her clearly flawless-in-every-way figure and darkens the blue in her eyes. She's beautiful, unequivocally perfect in her every feature. Immediately I'm jealous for my friend. It's unfair of me, I'm sure, but I can't even help it. Now _that's_ a girl who would have no problem manipulating her answers (and not even in a devious way, in a way that she knows exactly what she wants) and charming my love, the one I've grown to care for in so many years.

No sooner until after I find Evie, Ivy (with Giselle right next to her, in carnation pink) appears through the door. I apologize quickly to the blonde and run towards my friend, relief flooding each of my systems.

"Ivy! What happened to you last night? Giselle and I couldn't find you."

The redhead gave me a funny look, as if she didn't even remember what I was talking about. "Oh, I just wanted to take off my makeup before my mascara started running and I was found so out of it in some random bathroom. It took me _forever_ to find, by the way. Who's idea was it to hide the Selection's bathroom a four minutes walk away and under a staircase, without proper lighting and a _terrible_ smell, because that person probably shouldn't have been tasked with doing that." She laughs, not noticing the strange look on my face. That certainly wasn't the bathroom Giselle and I searched yesterday, with the blood on its marble floors and the loose sink handle, which was bright and no more than seven steps away from the Women's Room. Either Ivy had a concussion or she chose… not the correct bathroom.

More investigation on that later. For now, I was just happy she was safe.

In the end, we cant leave until ten minutes after seven, even though my insides itch from making Prince Cameron wait, because some of the girls take longer to get ready than others. But you can obviously see the care and attention in everyone, who each look princess-like in their own ways, and I no longer have any reason to believe I may be special. But I try not to let my courage be shaken, and stride purposefully to await my destiny behind the doors of the Great Room.

As each slab of mahogany is thrown open and we're lined up to wait for Prince Cameron (who's due to arrive at seven, just like us, so he must be running a bit late).

"Do you guys think these earrings are ok?" Ivy asks, her back hunched and her hands fingering the diamond drops that hang from her ears. "I could take them off."

"You look fine." Giselle reassures her, squeezing Ivy's hand in reassurance.

"Are you sure?" Her voice almost quivers.

"We're sure." I tell Ivy.

"Positive?" She doesn't seem convinced. "I really could take them off. Maybe I could show you what they look like off and then you can decide-"

"I'm serious, Ivy. They're fine." Evie snaps. Ivy shuts up and drops her hands to her sides. I nudge Evie slightly, who stands to my left and she gives me a look as if to ask what she did.

The drama discontinues as Prince Cameron strides in, sporting a charcoal suit and tie, with a black dress shirt to pair his loafers and golden cuff links. He looks dashing, his green eyes empty by shining. _I'll be able to fix that. If I just have some time._

"Good morning, Ladies." His voice sounds gravelly and soothing, and he's only addressed us so far but I already feel flighty and almost faint. I smile extra wide. The entire room straightened in a simultaneous motion with last minute fixes of flipped hair and perfect posture.

Avery takes the lead and all at once I realize how unprepared we were for today. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

"Good morning, Avery. If you don't mind, I'd like to introduce myself to these girls." There are a few snickers and blush-tainted cheeks redden even more at his words. I, myself, am captivated in the same way. "I'll be speaking to each of you individually for five minutes each. I'll be interviewing you in alphabetical order of province, starting with Allens and ending with Zuni. It'll be brief, as I'm sure you'd all like to go to breakfast as much as I do, and we cant do that until I've met each of you, but I look forward to getting to know you girls further. Please forgive me if I can't remember your name, I'll get the hang of them eventually." Most of the girls, including myself, laugh quietly. His eyes don't glint a hint of humor, however, and suddenly I'm not _sure_ if he was making a joke. "You don't have to be standing for the entire time, of course, and you can sit with whoever you'd like until you're called. First, I'd like to speak with Lady Raven Cortez." The dark-haired girl struts to him and they begin to chat, leaving me alone (but not really) with my nerves.

"What do you think he'll want to know?" Giselle ponders. "I've been trying to think through some things all morning, and I'm just not sure."

"One of my maids offered to drill me on a few of these questions this morning. I'm not sure if she actually knew what they would be." I respond.

"What kind of things did she ask?"

"I didn't have her question. I don't know, I guess I wanted it to be 'organic' or something, but in retrospect, I think it was a bad idea."

"Are you guys _sure_ the earrings look ok?"

Not much more important went on from there. In time, Giselle leaves for her interview, then Ivy, then Evie. We all promise not to kiss and tell, but I itch to ask them exactly what happened. What can I say? I'm nervous. Beyond nervous, actually.

When it's my turn to be interviewed, I'm practically shaking. I keep still, but the feel of each set of eyes staring into my skull sets me on edge. I curtsey dutifully to Prince Cameron –avoiding eye contact- and sit down on the ornate white ottoman that was set out for me.

"Good morning, Lady Aspen."

"Good morning." I let a small smile grace my own lips, not _expecting_ him to mirror my gesture but a tad disappointed anyway when he doesn't.

He misses a beat. Then a few more, and I straighten my skirt in the mean time. The entire time, he sits studying me, as if trying to figure out my kinks and quirks and my personality in just a few glances. Eventually he takes a breath and asks me my very first question. "Tell me about your life at home."

"In Waverly?" Prince Cameron nods his head. "Well, I grew up a few towns away from the Atlantic Coastline. It's scalding in the summers, frigid in the winters, and absolutely _breathtaking_ in the autumn. Around this time of year, all the way back at home, the leaves are probably just starting to turns the trees ombré in amber, orange, and crimson… My favorites were the bright red ones. They looked so vibrant, especially since there are less of them in Lexington than other parts of the province. You don't have anything like that in Angeles I don't think, but it's really nice here too, of course." 

"I've been to Waverly a handful of times." Prince Cameron states.

"Really?" My interest is piqued. "What did you do there?"

"Well, my mother's from Waverly."

"Right. I'm sorry, I forgot for a second." I chuckle.

"The yellow ones are my favorite."

"Pardon?"

"The yellow ones. Not amber, like you described, but the ones that are the color of buttercups or topaz. They were my mother's favorites, too." I smile at the sentiment. "Angeles doesn't have seasons, you're right, but summer is something that I'm fine being trapped in."

"Right, you could live in Whites."

"No one would come to here if I lived in Whites."

"Ah, on the contrary. I still would."

He gives me a smile. A small one, granted. It seems maybe false, it doesn't reach his eyes, but it's a start. I'm sure that I'm radiating golden pride. "Well good." I gleam in return.

All of a sudden, he's on his feet in a start, extending his hand, which I take tentatively. He pulls me up, putting a pressure on the blistered heels I forgot I had. "It was nice to meet you." He says flatly. "You may return to your seat."

It's a step back from his former (something of) warmth, and my grin wavers, but I curtsey and walk away quickly as he calls up the next girl, who actually _is_ from Whites. I almost laugh at the hint of irony.

So true, it wasn't exactly what I had hoped it would be. But if some of the other girls' puzzled looks and slightly dejected faces were any indication, it hadn't gone so horribly in comparison. Not so bad after all.

 **Ahhh young love. Aspen finally gets to meet her prince! Hope you don't mind, this chapter was pretty short, I know, but the next one is already finished so I'll try to post it tomorrow. Hint, it's the longest one yet!**

 **Love you all! Remember to review!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	13. What, Who, When is His?

**Heyyyyy guys! Congrats, you've gotten to this point so far, and I THANK YOU for sticking with me! I also know I've been focusing on Aspen and her friends a LOT, but don't worry, I intend on introducing MANY more characters, especially after the elimination. Speaking of which, I have an author's not at the bottom regarding that.**

 **All my love to** wolfofstark, XOStarbrightXO, **and** Cookiedoodles148, **who are all great, awesome, extraordinary people and I love you guys!**

 **Hope you guys enjoy the chapter :)**

…

 _Adriana Foster_

"So, what's it like meeting your first natural redhead?" I joke lightly upon sitting down and smoothing my skirt. I decided I wanted to look really professional today- or actually, that was my maids' suggestion, although I'm not sure which. See, one of them is named Kristen (I'm almost positive), one of them has a really high pitched, Southern-drawl kind of a voice, so I couldn't tell if she was trying to say her name was Emma, Emily, or Adalee, and the last one is definitely named after one of the months. And besides not knowing their names, I haven't been able to match faces yet, which made for an especially awkward morning. Anyways, _one_ of the girls said that I might make a good impression if I could dress really classy and let my fiery disposition take care of the rest. I didn't look so far into the idea, and just let them have their fun, but I was glad anyway. My dress is made of some thick royal blue material, with a halter neck and a pencil skirt, and a layer of ruffled fabric lays over half of that. My maids left my hair down and au natural, and gave me light makeup. It was a style all my own, and I actually loved what they did.

Prince Cameron didn't laugh at my joke. Which just made it a million times more awkward. "No, the girl before you was a redhead too."

"Heather? The one from Calgary?" I clarify. "No, her hair's too red to be natural. It's, like, red velvet or something… I think her stylists highlighted it or something during her makeover to make it look more real, but it _definitely_ isn't."

"Fine then. I guess you're my first natural redhead."

"And proud to be." I smirk, but Cameron doesn't even react. _Holy crap, tough crowd…_

The prince skips a beat before asking me my first question. It's pretty standard, a conversation starter I'm sure he's used many times already. "What did you do back at home?" He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.

"I was an equestrian exercise rider, mostly. Sometimes I had to do other chores on the ranch as well, but caring for the horses was my favorite job."

"Do you know how to ride?" He asks further.

"Of course! I've been riding since I was fifteen, and a lot of people have more experience in it, obviously, but I caught on pretty quickly. When I first came to live with my foster family, the Walsh's, who worked on a ranch, I just had to carry out a few chores and feed the horses and other barnyard animals and stuff. And I have to say, I absolutely _loved_ each creature, because I had never seen many more varieties than, like, domestic pets or pigeons when I was in other homes, but these were _authentic_ and _beautiful_. Horses were my favorites. My foster brother, Cooper, who's two years older than I am, taught me to ride. I practiced every day until I got to be as good as I am now."

"Are you close with your brother?"

"Cooper? Yeah, actually." I chuckle fondly. "He's pretty much the male version of me. Cooper is probably my best friend, but that's really only because there weren't any other girls my age on the Ranch, I guess. Evan is his younger brother, he's a sweetheart too."

"Are there any other siblings?"

"No." I answer plainly.

"Alright." He says, as if not knowing what else to say. "It was very interesting meeting you, Lady Adriana. If you could please return to your seat." I force a small smile on my face and bury my frustration. I curtsey as politely as I can and stalk off.

 _Interesting… Thanks a lot, "Prince Charming". I'll show you exactly how interesting I can be, just you wait._

…

 _Giselle Knight_

"Well, life at home was nothing special." I begin, in response to Prince Cameron's question. "My mother, my late twin sister and I all lived in the apartment above the florists' shop we worked at. It was nothing fancy, but I've always liked to think that all great legacies started from humble beginnings." I smile positively.

"I guess that's a good way to look at it." Prince Cameron nods, as if agreeing with me. "You said you had a late twin sister?"

"Yes, her name was Claudette." I say, looking down at my lap and fiddling with a loose strand of hair from my updo of curls. I thought they matched the rosettes on the bodice of my dress: carnation pink with spaghetti straps and a pleated chiffon skirt. It looked rather breezy, and wildly feminine, but I thought it was lovely. Paired with the matching jewelry our mother had given us when we were young, rose bracelets with Ivory Swarovski Pearls and gold lace designs, mine in coral and hers in pale mauve, I looked whole and complete. Claudette would have hated it, though, saying it was "too cutesy", and she was the one who got me into this mess in the first place. But then I would have argued that the flowers were a nod at our life at home, and after a little convincing she'd agree that it's pretty, and suits the occasion or whatever. We really did share that stubborn knack. "If it's alright, I'd prefer not to talk about it."

"Of course," he agrees. "I'm sorry for your loss." I nod solemnly. "Anyways, you said you were a florist?"

"Yes!" I smile, grateful for the change of topic. "We worked at this small shop on one of the busiest commercial streets in Southern Denbeigh, this beautiful shop that always reeked of intoxicating flowers and old lady perfume." I chuckle pleasantly. "It was called _Miss Lucy's Floral Arrangements,_ owned by Lucille O'Hara and her granddaughter, Olive. I absolutely loved working there. It turned out, I had a natural eye for arranging flowers, and I found it really calming, almost therapeutic. And with my family drama-don't even ask," I chuckle lightheartedly, showing that I was just making a joke. He nods, but doesn't smile, "it was always nice to have something to channel feelings into."

"Oh, have you had a chance see the Royal Gardens yet?" Prince Cameron asks, the thought striking his mind suddenly, "I don't go often, but my youngest sister, Elena, loves to be there when she's not forced inside. I've seen her drawing out there quite a few times."

"She's an artist?"

"I guess so." He states hesitantly, as if not sure that's the proper thing to call the youngest Havillard.

"Well that's nice. I always wished I could draw, when I was younger. But I think we only get one artistic gift, if we get one at all, and mine was arranging flowers." I laugh. "Anyways, no, I haven't been out to the Gardens yet, though I saw them quickly when Avery was touring the Selected around the palace. They really do look breathtaking, and I just hope I'll be able to take a closer look one day." I smile, almost coyly, and Prince Cameron nods his head, looking lost in thought.

See, this was a technique Claudette taught me once. She was considered the "fun" sister, so you could say she had more… experience. The key to hinting at a date, if you'd want one, is casually mentioning something you'd like to do, or a place you'd like to go and leaving it open ended. Usually I'd have to put more work into it, or at least that's what she told me, but in this case, where _I_ didn't even have to bring it up, its all the better. I had never listened to her in the past, but I can for sure say how useful these tips are now.

I wait for him to say that maybe he'll take me sometime, but he doesn't. I can only hope that he's thinking it and doesn't want to be too forward, or something like that, or maybe my sister's dating advice really was as stupid as I had always thought it to be.

Instead, I'm dismissed, and Prince Cameron says it was nice talking with me before sending me on my way. _Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for._ I curtsey graceful and prance away with a smile, hoping I looked happier than I felt.

Maybe it had been stupid advice all along.

…

 _Pepper Hearst_

I think it's almost fitting that the only person I've met so far (discluding my maids and the rest of the staff) is Prince Cameron, if only because when I pictured being in this competition when I was young, I completely forgot to account for the other Selected. I actually hadn't met _any_ of them yet, not that I was necessarily looking forward to it. There was one girl in the beginning of interviews, Raven, who had really dark eyeliner and tattoos lining her arms, who made me nervous, and another, Manhattan, who also had tattoos, and pink and purple hair to go with it. Even the girls I thought looked nice, like Emberly, Leanore, and Drew, I heard talking about some of the other girls behind their backs, and Evelyn made fun of Avery when she wasn't looking. Then there were those that were unapproachable by association, like Adriana, who looked pretty intimidating, even if she didn't have Raven by her side, and Mahalia, who was friends with the dark-haired girl as well. Catalina, who squirmed in her dress and high heels, sat exactly like I noticed some of the guys at work sat, and I had already seen her spit twice, while Hannah, with her orderly bun and cream blazer, looked like she could kill a man with her glare alone. Needless to say, I wasn't feeling so comfortable around these girls just yet.

When the girl in front of me finishes, Lucie from Hundson, I can also cross another girl off my "approachable" list. She shoots me a glare, but I think it's just because her interview went sour. I don't want to take it personally, but it's one of the worst possible things for me to see when I'm about to attempt a first impression. Her look actually makes me want to cry. But I don't.

I also want to shrink, and I chastise my own self for not having a more confident walk. I try straightening my back, but I can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and at this moment, not tripping on my heels comes to be a priority. I offer Prince Cameron a small, _completely_ forced smile before sitting down, smoothing my skirt and readjusting my black patent leather heels. Today I endorse Hugo Hemorrhage, who I've actually been in the same room with before. His dress is made of pressed white flax material, with stark black outlines on the neck and hemlines, around the bust, and silhouetting the open back. Along with the heels, my maids straightened my hair completely flat and put sparkling diamonds in my ears. I try to draw strength from knowing that I look my best, and use that to calm me down.

"Lady Pepper," He addresses me casually. My breath hitches and I feel nearly faint. "Can you tell me about your job? You seemed quite invested in it, as far as I could tell from yesterday's _Report_."

"Oh, yes." I laugh nervously, guard still up. "I don't know how they made me look so animated and professional, I thought I was I total train wreck." I confess in a babble.

"No, I thought you looked natural on camera." I can tell he's lying. _They always lie. Why does everyone lie to my face? What happened to the like-hearted soul I'd dreamed about? Doesn't he understand? Why does he want to torment me-what made him pick me out?_ But I thank him for the compliment anyways, what I believe is the proper thing to do. Or that's what my maids seemed to think. I actually feel especially unnatural around my maids, but I guess I was still happy for the idea. It's not as if I don't like them, and that couldn't be farther from the truth. I think that they're very nice, if a bit excited and enthusiastic, and it's just been unnatural so far. Hopeful I could be a bit more comfortable with them in the future, but it's too soon to tell. "So anyways, about your job?"

"Oh." I blush wildly, embarrassed. "I've worked for Zarcos Fashion Magazine since I was a few months into being sixteen, so in a month or so it'll be two years strong."

"Oh, is your birthday coming up?"

"Yes, it's October third."

"Happy early birthday." Prince Cameron states sincerely. I can't help it, I blush again.

"Thank you." I smile, unable to make eye contact. 

"Will you and some of the Selected be doing anything to celebrate?" He asks, feigning curiosity. See, this is where having actual _friends_ could be useful. I don't mind that I'll be alone on my birthday, but it's embarrassing to admit it.

"No, there's no plans. I think it's too early to do anything, and that's ok. I haven't celebrated my birthday in years."

"Really?" He actually looks surprised. "I can't imagine a single year where my parents haven't tried to complete outdo each other, and then it gets into this _massive_ competition to see who can make their child 'happier' on their birthday." I chuckle in response, a small feeling of hope in my chest. "No, I'm not even joking. It sounds cute, but it gets absolutely vicious."

"It's sweet, though." I say softly, an actual _real_ smile on my lips.

"In theory. You'll see: Connor's birthday is in January. If you're still here by then, you can judge for yourself." I can't help but recognize that he said, very specifically, "if". And it all comes crashing: I might not be here by January. The competition could even be _finished_ by that point, or I could have been eliminated or something like that. _If. If_. It's hard not to think about.

But it also doesn't go past me that he's talking so far into the future. And I might not be there by then to reap the rewards, but it sure sounds like I might be safe for now.

I, of course, try not to let my hopes up. It's far to naïve to think the prince is mine so easy. And if I've learned anything during my near-eighteen years of life, it's that I've never been simply awarded something like this. And so in that way, today could very well be my last.

…

 _Ivy Dupree_

"So Lady Ivy, when is _your_ birthday?"

Prince Cameron catches me completely off guard. Out of all the things I was trying my very hardest to mentally prepare for, something about my life at home (so that I'd have to meagerly, awkwardly avoid talking about the solitude of the Dupree estate), or my job (where I'd have to admit that I thrive off my parents money, and practice magic in my spare time), or what I like to do for fun, or something like that, this was not something I had thought about. But no, the most pressing question he had to ask me was my date of birth.

"Actually, I was born on December thirty-first: New Year's Eve."

"Wow, really?"

"Yeah," I smile at the floor shyly, fiddling with the blue lace overlay on my otherwise white dress. "I was always bitter about that, I can assure you. I was born officially at eleven thirteen, to the minute, so really I was less than an hour to being born on the first day of the New Year. I've always had a thing about new things, so it would have been a lot more fitting to be born in the New Year, I think."

"Alright, I guess that makes sense." he says lamely. I play with my hair self-consciously. "Sorry, I guess that was kind of random." I laugh nervously. "Why don't you tell me about what you like to do for fun?"

 _Here. Now this was something I had though about, something I had actually prepared for._ "Well, I've always liked practicing magic-"

"Wait." He interrupts me, moving his position so his forearms are resting on his knees. "Did you just say you practiced _magic_?"

My cheeks flush, and I let out another nervous laugh. When he doesn't copy my gesture, my smile fades. "Yeah, magic. I know a bunch of card tricks mostly, and some with coins too. But I also like drawing and painting, and when I was younger, my dad and our dog Bella and I-"

"No, I want to know more about the magic thing." He cuts me off again. I take a deep breath, rattled, and try again.

"Ok. Well, what do you want to know?"

"I don't know. Where do you learn stuff like this? Do you perform it for people or something? Oh wait-are you one of those party magicians?"

I'm not sure whether or not to be offended or relived that he's interested in me. "Well, first I'm not a party-magician, practicing magic is just a hobby. I don't technically work, but I inherited my parents fortune. My father owned the company Aeriotech, which supported major space missions and things having to do with interstellar travel. Or-any flight travel, really. Airplanes, rockets, drones, you name it. So no, I am not a _party magician_. I'm an heiress. And my parents used to send me away to magic camp over summers, when I was off from school. It was called 'Head in the Cards Magic Camp for Kids', and it was this sleep away thing where we were taught juvenile tricks and got to spend time outside for hours at a time in Columbia, it really impacted my childhood, I think." I finish strong, with a sweet smile.

"And what first piqued your interest in magic?"

"Well, when I was young, my mother rented a magician for one of my birthdays. Oh-birthdays!" I laugh. "Never mind. Anyways, I was _instantly_ mesmerized, I absolutely couldn't break my eyes away! And I've kind of just had a fascination with magic ever since."

Prince Cameron leans back again. "That is fascinating."

I blush and stare at my hands, a small smile gracing my face.

The prince wraps up the conversation after that, and I realize it must be for the better. Now at least we can end on a high note, or at least, with a compliment. Although, looking back, I'm not sure if he was being sarcastic.

Hey, wanna see a magic trick? You just did, and I think Prince Cameron is a bit better at magic than he thinks. I've never met anyone else who can steal a human heart like that. Maybe I've got a thing or two to learn after all. Oh, and it looks like he did another one as well. "Poof", he has the power to make me disappear.

…

 _Emberly Saffron_

These things were going by _pitifully,_ each girl more embarrassing than the next, and complete torture to watch. With the first few girls, I assumed they must be dull or Prince Cameron didn't like them, but that was until I saw him interact with the girl from Baffin. It actually annoyed me to see her breath, just a little bit. And since I was situated near the front, with Lea and Drew, who had just come back from her interview a few turns ago, I could catch a little here and there about the mortifying things this "Lady Ellina" confessed.

"Oh my god stop playing with your hair _you are making our gender look bad!_ " I whisper screamed, ripping my delicately painted fingers through soft curls. Lea laughed, as if I was joking. "No stop, I'm serious."

"Oh my god I think- I think she just told him she loves him-" My friend covers her mouth with her hand.

"Way to play hard to get." Lea laughs again, as Drew slaps me lightly on the shoulder. "And you're right, I'm almost positive that's what she just said, but I'm not sure I can believe it."

"Imagine if we're watching our future queen right now." Drew thinks aloud. Lea and I go silent.

"Oh-there she goes." Feigning a smile, the blonde, in distasteful pink ruffles, saunters back to her seat, a look of uncertainty on her face. Drew, Lea and I offer her each a closed-mouth smile, and she shrugs her shoulders with a cheeky grin.

"Five bucks says she's gone by next week." Drew offers.

"First of all, that's mean. Second, if I _had_ the money to bet, I would bet that this interview did her in, so whenever that elimination goes down she'll be gone."

"How is that any less mean than what I said?" I roll my eyes and laugh.

"I'll take your bet." A new voice comes from behind our huddle. In a whip of purple ombré and black hair, Bonita Stone walks to the three of us and sits right behind our circle. There's no skirt to smooth, as she sports a glamorous, skin-tight bodycon dress with long sleeves and black stilettos, and she crosses her legs in a lazy way as she positions herself comfortably. She's sure a sight to see, plus a little extra showy in comparison to my dress in cobalt, with a fit and flare design and a few strips of sheer (that remain completely decent, don't you worry) blue on the hem and neckline. She sticks out her hand and Drew shakes it, maintaining a suspicious smile. "Alright, so lets see who's up next."

We continued to play this game, a little something to entertain us while we waited. Eventually, Lea left to go meet our shared-boyfriend, and though I was supportive, I don't think Bonnie or Drew were feeling as charitable. As soon as Bonnie said something bad about Lea's interview (even though I thought it looked like it was going pretty well), Drew would laugh along. It actually made me want to slap her up a little, and I made a mental note to talk to her about why she was acting so strangely later, when we were back in the Women's Room, hopefully with Bonnie nowhere close. And by the way, Lea seemed to think she did just fine.

When it's my turn to go up, I resist the urge to give a little _hint_ to Bonnie that she'd better not make fun of me while I'm there, and instead take a centering breath and strut over.

I muffle a "hi" and do a small, awkward curtsey before sitting down, trying not to make eye contact. _Crap-this is probably what Bonnie's making fun of me for now!_ And sure enough, upon looking at the girls, Lea looks absolutely horrified, while Drew and Bonnie are laughing hysterically. I glare at them for a moment before returning my face to neutral and waiting patiently for the prince to say something.

"So, Lady Emberly, why don't you tell me about your life at home." _Well, now this is a problem_. How much am I supposed to reveal until I become a freaking security threat and am thrown out or something?

"Well, I live with my adoptive family in central Likely." I say, trying to withhold any details that can be used against me. Like the fact that I live with all guys, or that we're illegally staying in an abandoned grocery store warehouse, or something of that caliber.

"Why don't you tell me about them."

"Umm… Well." I feel backed into a corner. See, I've always felt cautious around any guy who had a romantic interest in me. You don't live like I have for as long as me and not have a healthy fear of advances. "There's twelve of us all together, all around my age, give or take a few years." There, I think I can get away with saying just that!

"Are you part of a group home?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

Prince Cameron and I talk for a few more minutes until I'm dismissed, and walk back to my seat, with Lea patiently awaiting my details and Bonnie looking for something to laugh at. I think Drew is somewhere in the middle.

My stomach nearly tumbles, so incredibly afraid that Bonnie may not have much to worry about. I guess I've found the guy I couldn't so easily charm after all this time.

…

 _Harper Jones_

"Lady Harper?" I snap back into focus in a snap. Or actually, I'd like to correct myself. I was never _out_ of focus. It's just that, even though it's been almost a year now, I'm still not really used to this name. I've been Alessia before, and Lia, Julia, Marlee, and Hadley. It doesn't really get easier in recognizing a new name, but I definitely wasn't putting as much effort into it as in the past. There was almost no doubt in my mind I'd have to change it again sometime in the next two to three years anyway.

"Yes, I'm sorry." I quickly make sure to apologize. "Would you mind repeating your question?"

Prince Cameron gives a frustrated look. "Sure. I said, what is your life like at home?"

 _Well, that depends on what you constitute as "home"_ … Along with my frequent name changes, my mom seemed to pack us up and move us around a lot. Of course, I can't blame her. "In Panama? Hot." I laugh. "It's really muggy there, and though it's totally safe where I live, I hear there's a lot of crime. I work in this little rundown sewing shop, mending dresses and other clothes, which my mom taught my entire family to do at a young age. I don't love it or anything, but it's made me really interested in advertising, treasury, and keeping track of business plans and inventory and stuff. I think I'd actually like to open up my own business one day."

"Really? Seamstressing as well?"

"No, probably not. I don't like sewing so much, but I have hobbies and stuff." Some rather unsavory, is what I don't say. Like, how sewing can't even make a dent in my family's living expenses, so I have to resort to other methods of getting money.

"Like what? What are your other hobbies?"

"I've always been gifted at math, and I like drawing, reading –and sometimes writing, if I'm in the mood- poetry and fine literature, and I love playing ball hockey and have a real passion for animals. I don't know. I figure I could find something, if I ever get enough funds to create a startup or something."

"So, you like animals… Do you have any pets?"

"No." I respond simply. Harper Jones has no pets, but Alessia did. And so did Hadley. "My brother had a therapy dog once, though." I recall. "Actually, we got two, because they became a bonded pair, and it was both or nothing, and we figured it could really help Joshua. We also got a female German Shepard, but we had to sell all three dogs, because, to be honest, it got the point where we couldn't even support _ourselves_ much less three additions. We were all heartbroken to see them go."

"Therapy dogs?" He clarifies.

"Yeah, for my brother. He was diagnosed with autism at a young age."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." I rub my arms uncomfortably. It's pretty inconvenient that my dress has only capped sleeves. I mean, it was _far_ hotter in Panama, and I still wore sweatshirts sometimes. So I may look pretty, but the blush cotton shift dress couldn't possibly hide my goose bumps. At least my legs were warm: in grey suede knee-high boots. My blonde locks fall all around my face, but my earrings are cold too. So this is just great.

"Yeah." I'm not sure what else to say. With the situation turned awkward, Prince Cameron dismisses me, and I take my seat (not really much warmer, either), almost sure I'm done.

…

 _Audrey Matlock_

I swear, some of these girls made me want to throw up. The tattoos, the wild hair colors, the promiscuous outfits… I couldn't imagine ever being let out of the house like this. What a sacrifice of pure dignity. I'm sure Prince Cameron would hope for a bit more decency than that, but I guess I didn't know.

I'm almost ready for him to tell me explicitly himself, but I'm not exactly sure why. I guess it's just the influence of the Seminary, telling me that I can choose to either be a lady or be a hussy. I think that could successfully scare anyone. To be honest, I'm just happy I'm comfortable. I've worn plenty of itchy gowns in my days, but my maids did a fine job. My day dress is ice blue, with sheer and white patterns as an overlaying. It's plenty modest, with a skirt down to the knees, sleeves to the elbows, and a scoop neck. Also, it makes curtseying so much easier!

"So, Lady Audrey," the formality sounds totally familiar, as if I was born to be called this from the start. It's completely natural to hear. "Tell me about some of your interests."

"Well, there's a lot." I laugh airily. "I'm a classically trained ballerina, I play violin, ride horseback, bake, sew, and like to read and write. I used to have this _crazy_ passion for debate, and I liked to practice public speaking. I enjoy archery, dancing, and teaching as well."

"Wow then. You really weren't kidding when you said a lot of hobbies. Where did you learn to develop all of these?"

 _Ah, so happy that he asked!_ "I was enrolled in Lexington Hall, otherwise known as the Seminary, when I was young." I proclaim proudly. Prince Cameron's eyebrows knit together, obviously confused.

"Sorry-what is that?"

"What exactly is a seminary? Well, it's essentially an all-girls charm school where girls from prestigious or 'respectable' families from Illéa and across the world send their girls to go to school at the age of seven. We're trained in high society manners, are given the finest education one can acquire, and we are expected to act with decorum at all times. The seminary is essentially the Selection, but a much more difficult and strict version of it." I laugh lightly, even though I'm completely serious. "We learn everything at first. From ballet, painting, violin, to horseback riding and French, and when we are 10, we pick four "hobbies" we would like to specialize in, alongside our standard classes, and a few foreign languages. The school is very hush-hush, because if word of the seminary got out, lower castes would claim it unfair, and that upper castes have been born with a birthright and pedigree for success and connections, which I honestly admit, is true. How else do we know everyone, and have so many connections? The seminary. We are taught to hold charity events and soirees, proper curtsies, how to greet foreign dignities and guests, and if you could get into the seminary, you are practically guaranteed a spot among the first circles. My roommates? A daughter of a French Ambassador, the daughter of the Governor of Sumner, and a girl from a long line of doctors who has connections in New Asia. You had to work ten times as hard to make it through that school, as everyone who got in was the best of the best. I might have got in, but I still had to work to get where I am today."

"So basically, what I'm hearing is you were basically _already_ taught to be a lady?"

"In a sense"

"Wow. I don't know why we hired Avery Caxton, you seem plenty qualified already." I laugh pleasantly.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, it's no problem. Now listen, it was very nice meeting you. If you could please return back to your seat, there's only a few more girls to meet, and I'm sure we'd all like to go off to breakfast."

"Of course." I respond, getting back up to curtsey. I bid him adieu, and smile smugly at the rest of the girls as I take my seat again, completely confident.

Sometimes I regret not getting my normal "teenage experience" in my youth, but these were the moments where the Seminary really payed itself forward. And now, I was immune to the cutthroat aspect I've seen in these girls, and prepared for the challenges of the Selection. These girls couldn't possibly know what they got themselves into.

 **That's all folks! Next chapter will be eliminations, and the first breakfast and whatnot. Hope you're all excited, because I sure am;)**

 **Anyways, so regarding the eliminations: I just want to pre-apologize… It's NOTHING personal, and I am still SO floored that I have such amazing characters to work with, people to talk to, and supporters. And I will warn you, a LOT of girls are going home in this next chapter. I SWEAR I AM SO SORRY AND THEY'LL ALL BE MENTIONED SOMETIME IN MY SERIES! (Speaking of which, stick around for my next SYOC, after this one! Already excited for that one!). Ok, PSA over, but I just thought you all deserved a warning, and a formal thank you for your support.**

 **XOXO**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	14. Point of No Return

**Wow. This took for freaking ever didn't it? A lot longer than I thought it would, for one. I was feeling absolutely zilch inspiration, of course, and eventually wound up just writing in Aspen's POV. I wanted to include a few more, but decided they just didn't fit in with this chapter. You will definitely been seeing a lot of fresh faces in the coming chapters, however!**

 **My apologies for the length of this chapter. I know it's pretty short, I just wanted to rip off the Band-Aid. No anesthesia.**

 **Thank you SO much to** Artemis' hunters (x2), wolf of stark, Cookiedoodles168 **, and** jenhen48 (x3!), **who I love more than anything for supporting me!**

 **Enjoy chapter 14!**

Fear is a funny thing. A test of character, if you will.

There's something called a fight, flight, or freeze response. It's part of the alarm stage of General Adaptation Syndrome, or basically phase one of a stress-induced reaction. When faced with an agonizing situation, a person will either try to face the predicament head on, try to escape it and avoid it at any cost, or will clam up, in a state similar to shock.

I can see it all around me.

It's in the posture of each girl standing next to me (Katherine –or, Kit, I think- Arias and Bonita Stone, since we're lined up in one solid row by province). In the palpable tension of the room. In the _audible_ , increased breathing, and even those who weren't breathing at all. I can practically see racing minds and wild eyes, although I don't turn to either side to check. I'd prefer not to draw attention to myself.

It's generally pretty difficult to self-diagnose, but my closest guess is that I'm experiencing a 'flight' response. As radical as it might be to say this, I wish literally nothing more than for some cataclysmic even to take place suddenly; for some sudden excuse to be anywhere but here. Which, I mean, is _awful_ because I've dreamed about this moment for years. This will be that test I need to pass. Will he pick _me_? I mean, not even permanently: there will be many expectations to meet, hoops for me to jump through, and many eliminations. But am I good enough to stay? My conditions are practically psychosomatic: I feel like I'm going to be sick. As in, physically ill. This situation is driving me crazy.

Like I said: it says a lot about me, I think.

Prince Cameron stares at us long and hard. Collectively. You can tell he's grounded right now, and not a trace of uncertainty lines his features. His bushy eyebrows are furrowed, and he's far from the manufactured (yes, I realized it wasn't genuine, which I've made my peace with) smile he sported during our interview. I can't stop thinking about that smile. It has to be a good sign. It _has_ to be. I haven't seen that man smile in all thirteen years of careful, deliberate attention. That _has_ to account for something.

 _Prince Cameron. Choose me._

"Alright Ladies, I'll be straightforward." He begins, unclasping his hands from behind his back to address us all. "Ladies Makayla Durand, Ellina Foster, Allena Quick, Heather Berry, Manhattan Bourne, Adeliza Yancey, Alessandra Hernandez, Scarlet Chatterly, Lucie Crimson, Kaycee Thomas, Wednesday Corbineau, Serena Ballora, and Cherika Lowell: I'm very sorry, however you have been eliminated. The rest of you may proceed to the Dining Hall for breakfast, I'll be in to join you shortly."

I can almost feel my mouth drop to the ground. I mean, that's thirteen girls. An _actual_ Illéan record.

Nonetheless, I follow orders: allowing myself to be herded away with the rest of the first-round survivors to go eat. I find, unfortunately, that the panging hunger I felt while waiting has dissipated. This process was less than appetizing.

As soon as the doors are closed behind us, creating a physical barrier between us and the eliminated, I can hear the screams. Not the dangerous type -like, as in, 'people are actively invading, we're all gonna die', but more along the lines of 'I can't believe I got here only to be cut down so mercilessly'. It was pretty cold, actually.

"Is it just me or did he seem a little…" Giselle seems like she doesn't know how to ask the question.

"Rude?" Evie finishes.

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"You know what? I'm sure he just wanted to seem authoritative. And he should be able to." I defend. "He is the future king, after all, and he needs us to know that he won't be all loose with us just because we're girls. I can respect that. Gender equality, eh?"

"I'm not really sure that's what he was trying to get at…" Giselle speaks slowly. 

"But you don't _know_ that. I'm sure he'll become a lot kinder and more comfortable around us as this competition goes on. For now, I'm just happy we're all still here." Giselle smiles and squeezes my hand supportively.

We take our assigned seats around the tables. I look over for Ivy, who's on the table facing the royals, to see if she's all right. The girl looks shaken, and doesn't talk to anyone. I wish I could hug her. Tell her everything will be okay. This competition has been ridiculously difficult for her. Any moron could see that.

Butlers unmask silver platters around the centers of each table, and after the King makes a short, congratulatory speech, he tells us that we can all eat. I add some fresh fruit to my plate, and pour fresh squeezed orange juice onto my crystal glass.

"Don't you want to eat more?" Harper Jones, who I recognize quickly, asks me innocently. I take a gander down to her plate, which is loaded with waffles, topped heavy maple syrup, powdered sugar, and whipped cream, strawberries, bacon, and coffee with cream and probably sugar too. "This is all so delicious. I feel like I'm going to wind up with diabetes before I leave this place." Thera and Catalina laugh at her joke.

"Yeah, I guess I'm somewhat of a health-nut." I tease, not wanting to give full details.

"Suit yourself. That means more bacon for me."

All of a sudden, all hushed conversation ceases as Prince Cameron walks into the room. I hear my own breath hitch, and though many girls try not to look like they're staring, my eyes don't break off of him for a second. He signals for everyone's attention, wanting us to stop eating for just a second, but I don't even think that wasn't necessary. I couldn't imagine one person who wasn't already paying attention.

"Congratulations." He says. And then he sits down. He tells us that we can continue eating, when none of us seem to.

"That's all?" Catalina whispers quietly to herself.

"I guess so." Harper responds. Catalina seems a little shocked that she got a response, but shrugs.

Conversation has pretty much ceased. Everything seems awkward. The royals are the only oblivious ones. Princes Cameron and Mason eat with gusto, not bothering to look around. Prince Connor looks at us with some look of distain. Princess Cassiopeia speaks quietly to her mother, while King Adrian listens and nods. Princess Elena smiles wide at the rest of us, and waves at a Selected who smiles at her. I cant help but wonder what this says about each royal. I hope to find out soon.

As it's clear we wouldn't eat much more, Avery announces that she'll be taking the Selected to the Women's Room for their first lesson. The king and queen approve and we all get up as quietly as possible to leave.

The Selected and I walk in a slow, jumbled mass. Already our numbers were noticeably lessened. _Thirteen_ gone. That left only twenty-two of us, on the second day no less. Absolutely unheard of.

Upon entering the Women's Room, a few girls take seats, however Avery has none of that.

"Stand up." She instructs. "There's a room behind that door, a classroom-esque place. However, you –uneducated- ladies need to learn proper bodily actions first. We'll move onto lessons later." Avery lines us all up, just like we were this morning, only this time the order is random. She instructs us to stand naturally, so none of us move. Then, she goes down the line one by one with a ruler. She smacks backs to enforce good posture, and forcibly takes apart fiddling hands so they rest by one's sides. Our stance is corrected as well, and many people's knees aren't straight enough, or even too strait, and pigeon-toed girls like myself are reprimanded. Feet forward. Back so straight it's curved. Head level. Knees unbent. Hands by your sides. Don't touch your hair. Instructions smack me in the face, one by one.

Avery then strolls to a bookcase and pulls out a novel for each of us. I can say, for the record, that this is the _only_ time I haven't felt giddy in the presence of a book. Next, we're partnered up and told to walk in circles around each other.

"You've got real good posture." Mahalia Babineua, my apparent partner, compliments. I smile in return.

"Thanks!"

"Do I hear talking?" Avery singsongs angrily. Mahalia and I exchange a worried look, and say nothing.

My book only falls off five or six times, I'm proud to report. It's much harder to walk in heels, granted, but if I'm slow enough, it won't fall off. It's a small victory, but it makes me excited anyway.

After we've all practiced posture, Avery gives us a short break. The very first thing I do is open up my book. It's fairly old, from probably the early twenty-thirties, but I'm not sure exactly the year. It's called _Barrier Clip Door_ , by Annie Fortuna. My friends approach me and try to make conversation, but I shrug it off. It feels a little mean to ignore them, but Fortuna is actually one of the more intricate writers I've seen. I get through about thirteen fascinated minutes before Avery begins to teach us curtseying and proper greetings of royals.

About halfway into that lesson, a dainty, redheaded maid prances through the door. She bears a sealed envelope, messily scrawled on and unreadable if you don't have a clear look. My stomach positively twists girl looks around the room. There are so many possibilities as to what this letter may hold. A mistake in eliminations, sending another girl packing, a letter from home, the first date, a breech in conduct resulting in punishment… I'm practically relieved when the letter doesn't go to me, but to Hannah Wade, the Selected girl from Fennley. She rips it open slowly, soaking in the attention she knows she has from the rest of us. Then, reading the letter slowly to herself, her vacant face turns into a devious smirk.

"It'd seem that I have the first date." She brags, flipping her straightened black hair. My stomach drops to my feet. _Not good enough. You just weren't good enough, Aspen._

"You have permission to leave and get ready." Avery grants, smiling at the girl with pride.

Hannah saunters away smugly. She gives us one last confident, "better than you" look before leaving.

She never returned.

 **So that actually totals fourteen girls gone (full list of girls remaining is below and also on my profile). Wow. I feel like it's so soon. And like, literally, I'm the one who wrote it. What is wrong with me?**

 **I hope this clued you in to the fact that this competition is going to generally go pretty quickly. I'm aiming for around fifty chapters total, to cover everything I need to. There will be four sequels, for those of you interested! I want to write the stories of each of the siblings finding love in their own Selections! Hopefully, by the end of this year, we'll be on Mason already! Wow, wouldn't that be crazy? Anyways, point is, Cameron, exactly like Cassia predicted, is basically eliminating these girls due to scrutinizing pickiness and will probably eliminate a lot of them at a time. Get prepared, guys. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.**

 **My most** _ **sincere**_ **apologies to the people who created these lovely girls who got eliminated. I appreciated every submission more than you know, and thanks to those of you who have stuck by me even if your character didn't get the rank you wanted. I appreciate all of the support I've gotten, and I love you all more than you know!**

 **Here is a list of all of the girls still standing. Congratulations to the creators of these girls, and I'm so SO sorry again if your girl wasn't one of them :( This is the absolute worst part for any SYOC writer.**

 **Girls Remaining:**

 **Adriana Foster**

 **Aspen Marx**

 **Audrey Matlock**

 **Bonnie Stone**

 **Cat Alvarez**

 **Clio Smirnov-Athans**

 **Delilah Gregory**

 **Drew Montgomery**

 **Ember Saffron**

 **Evie Clause**

 **Giselle Knight**

 **Harper Jones**

 **Ivy Dupree**

 **Lea Fleuret**

 **Mahalia Babineua**

 **Natalyn Brandon**

 **Pepper Hearst**

 **Raven Cortez**

 **Thera Ellington**

 **Waverly Evans**

 **Remember to review!**

 **Love you all,**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	15. Fatalistic

**OMG GUYS IM BACK I WROTE A THING! I've got two dates for ya: Pepper's and Clio's (who you guys haven't seen a pov of yet so I'm interested to see what you guys think of her!), and LITERALLY SO SORRY I've been gone so long! It's been literally months omg. Like almost 5. That's insane. This chapter isn't even that long. Hopefully I'll do better next time lol sorry my frands!**

 **Thanks to** wolfofstark, XOStarbrightXO, rysaspirit, The Pocketwatch Ripper, and Cookiedoodles168 **for your continued support and love! You guys 'da real MVPs. Love ya!:))**

 **Anyways: DATES! Enjoy!**

…

Lady Pepper Hearst

I have made it a point not to judge any person without first getting to know them. We are not the sum of our parts: we are the thoughts behind actions; the defined by the choices we make. Being kept quiet for most of my life, being the there-but-not-really observer, I have noticed that. Sometimes it's the most beautiful people who have the ugliest souls, those with the most vacant resting faces who think the most, and people with the fanciest degrees who really know so little about the way the world operates. Some of us are not how we appear.

To say that Prince Cameron Havillard was a "kind person" may be overshooting the facts, but I had my reservations about calling him a "mean person", or a down right "cruel person". And upon closer examination, he never really did look like a nice person. He discharged thirteen girls with a flick of the wrist and didn't think twice. He seemingly was raised with no manners: there was not a please or thank you to any of his waiters or butlers. And he never looked people in the eyes. I did not know him well, and I'm not the psychoanalyst type, but I knew, down in my very core: Prince Cameron is _exactly_ how he seems: cruel. Cruel enough to make me want to cry. Some people are just like that.

So far, Prince Cameron had shown no mercy. After eliminating more than a third of his original 35 Selected, he also sent home every girl after every date. And today, after my date (9 o'clock AM, on October 3rd), I will supposedly join the eliminated girls. We're like a pile of dead bodies by now, plowed over and disregarded. It hardly seemed like he cared about any of us, but today of all days to send me home… Illéa will be a cruel nation ruled by a callous king, and as if I wasn't already familiar with fear…

I wait on the edge of my bed, inner turmoil racing through my brain at the speed of light. Trigger words in my fast-tracked mind make my heart contort and at times I feel a limb physically twitch or fall numb. I've already brushed my teeth three times, changed my shoes twice (with my maids, dismissed by me almost fifteen minutes ago, having no say in whether I can wear open-toed suede with unpainted toenails), and stared disappointedly at a new, blank page of a brand-new sketch pad, pencils in hand and creativity nowhere to be found. He was already five minutes late for our rendezvous. I do not like late people, but I figure Prince Cameron does not like me. No one really seems to.

I'm nearly knocked out cold when the prince comes to retrieve me with four raps on my door. And with a speeding heart and deceased breathing, I open it. I'm less than surprised to find that he isn't smiling. In fact, he looks like an executioner. His abnormally green eyes are dead, just like my chances of lasting another day here.

Doesn't it make such a sad existence: the universe destinationalistically pitted against you?

"Lady Pepper," the prince greets, as we exchange a formal bow and curtsey. Then he does something strange: he takes my hand and laces it with his. And as we leave, my heart is stopped but my breathing revived, and every emotion and expectation I have is flipped. Dread is replaced with regret, and brain function is now, somehow, completely halted. "You look very beautiful this morning."

 _Ah, formalities,_ I realize suddenly. _He tells me I'm beautiful because he's supposed to; he's holding my hand because that's the custom._ I'm entirely oblivious to royal culture, there's really no way I could have known.

"Thank you, Your Highness." I respond curtly, my free hand clutching the modest inverted-scallop skirt of a cream midi with printed black roses. "You look very nice, yourself." As long as we're sticking to formalities, I figure it's only polite to return the compliment.

"Of all the days to dress up, today, I thought, was the right day." He offers me a smile like a peace offering, looking at me quickly. I think he's looking for a reaction from me, but all I can reciprocate is a quick motion of eyes darted from him and back. I will not give him the satisfaction. He will not make me feel anything, and I will turn my emotions off. I will leave with dignity and no reservations. And with that, I can survive the rejection.

Also, eye contact makes me uncomfortable.

The rest of our walk to outside is spent in merciful silence. In fact, until we wander past the palace gardens, past the area of the grounds where the Royal Estate is even visible, I manage not to think anything at all.

"Wait a second," I ponder aloud, suddenly very confused, "where are we going?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Prince Cameron replies. "We're just kind of wandering right now."

This strikes me as more than insulting. What, so another girl gets a fancy dinner, or a nice movie, and the prince doesn't even have the decency to _plan_ something for me? If he cared so little, why on earth did he bother keeping me past the first elimination?

I keep my mouth firmly cemented shut. If I don't deserve a proper date, he doesn't deserve a response.

"Alright, I feel like this is a good a spot as any." He says, halting our stride suddenly. On the climax of a small, neatly-trimmed, dandelion and daisy-infested hill, Prince Cameron releases my hand and sits. I spend a wobbly second standing in confusion before joining him on the grass, curling my knees to my chest and picking at the blades beside me. We spend time in conservative silence for a while, with him staring at me obsessively and not a care on my mind as I stare at the ground. My father once told me that I shouldn't kill people with kindness, because not everyone deserves my kindness, but that it was better to kill them with silence because not everyone deserves my attention.

"So, tell me about your family. Did they send you anything for your birthday?"

"No, they didn't." I say, strategically avoiding the first part of his question and finally meeting his eyes. They're sparkly and inquisitive, and his small, hopeful smile catches me off guard. It's as if he's actually interested in what I have to say. I watch the emotion fall off his face at my response.

"Nothing?" I shake my head, pushing a non-existent flyaway from my meticulous beachwave-infested ponytail and hug my knees tighter. "Not a card, a gift, nothing?"

"No. We don't have much money, it's not like we can afford a lot. I don't really mind. I've told you already: I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was eleven."

"But today… You, Pepper Hearst, turn eighteen today. And you're spending this with me, not with your family. And they didn't even waste the postage to send you a card?"

"I thought you had to call me 'Lady'." I object flatly, not caring much about his opinions on the obscurity of my family's birthday non-traditions. I'm more hurt that he _remembered_ my birthday and is still going to eliminate me.

"I'm sorry." He responds politely. "Actually, would it be okay if I just call you Pepper? You can call me Cameron if you'd like, I just feel like it's easier than addressing people by title."

I look him unblinkingly in the eyes for a few counts. "That sounds alright." I tell him. He smiles at me again.

"Anyways," he says, bringing us back to our previous conversation, "I still think you should get something. I mean, you can _drink_ and stuff now."

I almost laugh. "Is that what your eighteenth birthday meant to you?" I inquire, trying not to laugh. "The day you can legally drink?"

"I've been enjoying this privilege for more than a year now, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that it was legitimately the only upside to becoming a legal adult." He smiles at me (with those perfect, white teeth and smooth lips) as I chuckle, even as reluctant as I am. "Here, hold on a minute." He says, uprooting various daisies.

"What are you doing?" I ask, implying it must be stupid.

"You'll see. Could you hold these for me?" Without waiting for permission, he hands me a daisy bouquet of seven. Every twenty five-or-so seconds, he'll take one and tie it to the others. Occasionally I remove one inflamed hand to wipe my runny nose or itchy, watery eyes, but we say nothing while he works.

Cameron finishes his project and places it on my head: a daisy crown, fit for non-royalty like myself. He smiles at his finished product and I laugh through the itchiness in my throat.

"Stunning." He marvels at his work. I chuckle, to show my doubt, "You laugh; it'll be a trend someday, you'll see."

"Ah yes, a new staple for designers everywhere."

"That's right. Oh! And one final gift for you." Cameron pulls an in-full-bloom dandelion from the grass beside him and hands it to me. "Make a wish."

I think of what I want with closed eyes, trying to stop the itching, and blow when I know exactly what to wish for.

"What was your wish?" Cameron questions excitedly.

"For a Zertec." I say, followed by a sneeze. "I'm allergic to daisies."

His smile quickly falls off his face, and Cameron very quickly looks worried. " _Oh!_ Oh my god, sorry!" He removes the crown from my head and places it on his own. I laugh again, through watery eyes. "Don't make fun of me, my fashion is unisex. God, as a person who's so involved with fashion you _really_ aren't good at identifying

Intended Accessory Gender."

"I don't think that's a thing."

"This is blasphemy. You don't even know what Intended Accessory Gender is."

"It's not real."

"I will sue." I laugh. But as the air goes flat and Cameron stops smiling, now looking suddenly serious for no reason, I'm at a loss for words, or even breaths. _The damn fool tricked me. I said I would turn my emotions off; that I wouldn't give him the satisfaction._ Cameron gives me a little bit of an uncomfortable smile and takes my hand once again.

 _Some people are just crueler than imaginable._

"Pepper, I'm sorry for this…"

…

Lady Clio Smirnov-Athans

Another two days and three more girls gone. I think it'd be safe to say I've never been more terrified in my life. Soon, the allure and romance of a date with the crown prince wore off, only to be replaced by terror and dread. Getting a date was a synonym for being sent packing, which wasn't something I could do just yet.

"Trina? Does the bodice of this dress look a little tight to you?" One of my maids, Marley, asks the head of the trio. Grace pops her head out from the closet, where she's picking shoes, and Trina stands firmly with her arms crossed.

"We're going to have to get her re-fitted, I think." She remarks under her breath, a little frustrated with the nuisance. Grace rolled her eyes and smiles at me.

"Hey, I'd rather have to get re-fitted in the bust than have my flat-as-a-board body…" She laughs.

"There must have been an issue in the sizing. Sorry about that!" Marley quickly apologizes.

"Oh, yeah," I stutter awkwardly. "I'm sure that's it. But it's ok, though. No big deal or anything." _All right and now I'm babbling._ Never a good sign.

Marley stares at me hard. "Trina, is it okay if I change her outfit? Like, something a bit looser fitting on the top, just until we get her refitted for a new wardrobe?"

"Sure, whatever you want. Just fix that-okay?"

"Sure." Marley purses her lips and heads back to the closet.

 _I suppose it wont make much of a difference. This may be the last time I have to wear one of these dresses again. The last time I see my maids again. I may not even get to the resizing._

Dates just shouldn't be causing me so much anxiety, right? Dating is about passion and curiosity, infused with tension and chemistry! Then again, dating has never been code for doomsday for me, but for the guys I've dated in the past…

Damn. My medicine is bitter.

Maybe it'd be better if I were eliminated, anyway. There are other things to worry about, _time sensitive_ problems that have to be addressed as soon as possible. _Now if I could only get out of the palace for a day…_

'The only way out is through.'

So maybe it's all for the best anyway. Sadly. I'll be back to Spencer, my wont-leave-me-alone-since-that-night roommate who gave me his stupid fire helmet as a keepsake without my permission (as if he doesn't know what I'm here for). No more covering the Selection for _The Illéan Woman_ magazine,and that probably means no promotion either. Back to the bottom again.

Hopefully not the exact bottom I'm currently afraid of.

Marley reenters the room with a smile and a new outfit. She strips me of the gauzy white dress I had originally been wearing for a cream pencil skirt with scoops along the hem and a matching cream top, exposing the skin on my midriff but not the bellybutton piercing she promised to keep a secret from Trina. The top fits snugly, but still looks appropriate. Grace follows closely behind her with the accessories she had hunted for earlier: Strap gold heels, dangly gold and diamond earrings, and a gold and diamond mini-bib necklace. She hands me a clutch as well (both silver and gold, with black velvet on the inside) and loads it with the same shade of crimson lipstick already applied to my lips, my cellphone (in case of emergency), and some breath mints. Trina throws my hair up quickly into a fashionable, curly topknot, and Grace reapplies some mascara and perfume (called Better Than Sex Cake, and I above anyone would know). They then make some polite conversation with me until Prince Cameron arrives.

I take a deep breath and steel myself before opening the door to let him in. We have a quick exchange of hellos and he kisses my hand politely after I finish my curtsey (which was officially Avery Caxton approved), and wave goodbye to my concerned-looking maids as I wander away.

News travels fast. None of us wanted to say it, but they knew almost for certain that I would be gone by this time tomorrow.

"So, where are you taking me?" I ask casually, smirking at the handsome (if a bit mean, as far as I could tell) prince.

"Dinner." He states simply, not bothering to look at me but around the hall I'm sure he'd wandered down millions of times in his nineteen years living here. "I thought I said that on the invitation, my apologies if I was unclear."

"No, I know that." I insist, trying not to sound stupid. "I just meant _where_. And also, you don't have to talk so formally around me, if you don't want. Or, unless that's just the way you talk naturally, because that's fine too."

Prince Cameron gives me a look, and I take that as an immediate hint that I'd need to slow the speaking and not talk unnecessarily if he was going to keep me. "We're going to the balcony on the second floor."

"Not near any of the Selected's rooms, I hope?"

"No, it's on the other side of the building."

"Great, wouldn't want any spies, right?"

"Right." He responds lamely, letting out a bored sigh. _So we're not off to the best of starts._

"So… How was your day today?" Not sure exactly where to start the conversation, I awkwardly land here.

"Good." He concedes, as if it troubled him to answer my question. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but keep my mouth shut.

As we eventually arrive to our dinner-destination, I relax our looped arm to sit down. I fix my skirt and put my napkin on my lap, sucking in the purity of fresh air, soft candle wax, and good wine. This is an environment I could get accustomed to.

"So," I start, trying again to get a conversation going, "do you think, in a relationship, that it's the little things or the grand gestures that mean more?"

"What?" The Prince looks confused at my question. As if it's rocket science or something…

"Well, which is more important to you?"

"I like a mix of both," he says after a little thought. "What about you?"

"Little things." I decide instinctively. He nods, finally giving me his undivided attention. "It's the way a guy notices a change in your hair, or pulls out your chair before you sit down. The little acts of chivalry that prove romance isn't _yet_ dead. Take notes." I joke.

"Oh, I'll be sure to." He smirks, turning his gaze away from me to his menu. "Tell me when you know what you want and I can call over a waiter."

"Ready whenever you are."

Prince Cameron does as discussed. For him, steak cooked medium with mashed potatoes. "I'll have the salmon filet, with an arugula side salad, please." The waiter nods and takes our menus.

"Hmm… Salmon?" He ponders.

"Yes salmon, what's wrong with that?"

Prince Cameron makes a face "Never mind…"

I switch up my expression for mock seriousness. "Excuse you, if you have problems with my salmon I think you should put it on the table. I need to know what I'm getting into here."

"Ah, is being a salmon-hater a deal-breaker?"

"Why yes it is."

"I can keep my mouth shut." I stick my tongue out at him but can't help but smile.

"So does this mean you're a generally picky eater, or just discriminatory against fish?"

"I'm not, and I even like other fish too. Flounder, soul, swordfish…?"

"Ah, so now you'll get mercury poison." I retort, arms crossed. "That's good, though. Just what I'm looking for in a mate."

Prince Cameron rolls his eyes, any trace of joking either gone or well hidden. He doesn't smile for a second.

By the time we actually get our food, we're talking enough to sustain real –albeit slow- conversation. I practically inhale my meal, and then have to wait while Prince Cameron chews slowly.

"I see Miss Avery hasn't taught you about how to eat." I, quite honestly, can't tell whether or not he's joking.

"Rude." I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin. "Also, screw you. Screw Avery."

"Better not let her hear that…"

"You're right, she'll have my head. I swear to god that woman is such a witch. She made one of the girls cry one time!"

"Should I even ask?"

"Maybe it's not my place to tell." He chuckles humorlessly.

He swallows a final bite and clears his throat. "We should probably get you back up to your room now…" He says, looking at his watch.

Umm… so no elimination for me. And despite that the fact that there was no kissing, slow conversation at first, and I'm going back to my room before eight o'clock, I'd say tonight was a success. I'm a lil' bit bored but still competing, and that would have to be enough for now.

 **The end. Sorry if that was kind of boring for you guys, but we got to see our first two dates up close (and also it's like 1:15 right now at my house)! Which date did you like better? Who has more chemistry with Cameron, do you think? What POV did you enjoy more? Tell me in the reviews!**

 **ALSO! For character-creator ppl, I want to do "tags" for the characters! Creds to wolf for the idea (but then again it's also kinda a Kiera Cass thing so shoutout to her too…?), but I think it'll be really interesting to get ideas! This would go out for ANY still-surviving contestant, the mains in particular but remaining ma, and supporting! If you're kinda confused about this: it's basically just "the" followed by a tag. Like, America was "The One", and Marlee was "The Favorite", Celeste was "The Diva", etc etc etc. THAT! That's what I'm interested in for the girls! What are your character's tags?:) You can either leave it in the comments or PM me!**

 **Love y'all lots! Remember to review!**

 **XOXO,**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	16. Aurora

**Boiiiiiii this took me so damn long to write… Here you go, another chapter!**

 **I'd like to thank my (divinely incredible, in every way) reviewers,** Sora Kalopsia, XOStarbrightXO, jenhen48, wolfofstark, 4Love4Love4, Cookiedoodles168, Issi Herondale, **and** Artemis' hunters **(x2). I was genuinely surprised at the amount of support I got on the last one, but pleasantly in every way. Love you all so much, lets try it again;)**

 **Hope you like it!**

…

 _Lady Adriana Foster_

Today was Friday, October 4th and I'm pretty sure I was gonna be the last date before _the Report_ but Prince Cameron canceled.

I'm not sure exactly what to take that as. He kept his two dates yesterday (Pepper, though, looked like an actual ghost all this morning and Clio looked at her funnily all day long, as if she just wasn't sure what the two of them could possible have in common), and also his date this morning (Mahalia, who hasn't stopped smiling since she missed breakfast earlier today), so what exactly was _my_ issue? Did this mean he wanted to go back to his elimination streak (unimpressive and disheartening as it was) and wanted to spare me, or was no longer interested? Does it have anything to do with me at all? It could, in reality, just be poor planning on his part. This was the first _Illéan Capital Report_ any of us Selected would be on. It was impossible to come up with a good reason to cancel our date if I didn't know what this day entailed, preparation wise.

But oh, did my maids know a thing or two about preparation. As it would be my "first live television experience" (as about 20 different people have told me, as if nothing I had done in this competition had yet been televised, even though it was, and sort of embarrassing but also kind of awesome at that), it was important, as one of my maids –Kirsten, I finally learned- put it so eloquently, "to be so hot it'll make His Highness so damn sorry he canceled his date with you this afternoon that he whisks you away as soon as the _Report_ is over". She was scary bitter about the whole ordeal, even though Prince Cameron promised he would reschedule.

Regardless, Kirsten, Emily, and April (only took me a week to learn the names of these women, but they seemed pretty unbothered about it) made me more than "hot", as they had promised. Hugging my body was a marvel of a dress, something I don't think I could ever have thought up. Clinging to my waist, torso, and a significant part of my legs was shiny fabric with tight sea green, before flopping out to create a mermaid bottom. A layer of embellishments acted as a division between bodice and skirt, and the haltered top of the gown was beautifully green and beaded. My flaming, auburn springy curls were painstakingly straightened, and pushed behind my ears to show the exquisite diamond drops that hung from them, matching my bracelet and embellished high heels.

Slap a tiara on me, and I could even be mistaken for a princess.

"I feel like I could just kiss you guys, right now." I breathe, with crimson painted fingers covering a properly glossed set of lips as I admire myself in the mirror.

Kirstin grins ear to ear, and April, despite her shy aura and unexplained shell, smiles at the floor. Emily, although especially unimpressed when I told her about my 'natural redhead' joke as I was telling my maids about my interview (or the other attempts I had made at humor) seemed pleased with me.

"Save your kisses for the Prince," Emily reprimands, stern-faced while clearly trying to suppress giddiness. I secretly think she was a 'lil nervous when she got put servicing a country girl from Carolina. I certainly didn't come into this contest as pretty as some of these girls. But they made it work anyways, by some miracle.

"Eh, I need the practice. Y'know, if you're interested." I turn around to meet her saucer eyes and offended posture. Kirsten physically snorts.

"Respectfully," Emily replied, refusing to meet the shadowed eyes she had done a half an hour ago, "no thank you."

"Emily wants to save all of _her_ kisses for her _boyfriend_." Kirsten teases.

"Rodney isn't my boyfriend." She reports defensively.

"Well, you wish he was." Kirsten places her hands on her hips, ditzily refusing to back down. "Maybe he could protect you from the bombs like he protects Adriana's door. You'd like that?"

"Enough, Kirsten."

"You wanna grow a pair and-"

"Kirsten," April interrupts, grabbing the brunette's wrist softly enough to make her jump, "seriously. Please stop." That was the thing about April. Whenever she said anything at all, you listened. Kirsten nods, barely, and drops the subject entirely.

Emily, mindful of the major event I had to undergo tonight, looks at the clock and reports us the time. "It's already 4:25, you're going to need to make it down to the Women's Room, before the _Report_."

"Why there?"

"We have it under strict orders to send you there, so Miss Avery may walk you down to the studio as a group."

"Do you think you'll have some sort of a crash lesson?" Kirsten asks.

"Maybe," I respond. I sure hoped not, but it wouldn't exactly be surprising. I look behind and my maids and give them a queasy smile. "I should probably go now. Wish me luck?"

I'm obliged quickly. Kirsten even hugs me, nearly causing me to fall over with so many inches of heels on.

I close the door quick, and join a few girls as we make the journey to purgatory.

In truth, I was less than excited to be on live TV. Sure, I could imagine Jason's hopeful silent prayers for my success, Cooper's clapping and whooping, Evan beaming and hanging onto my every word, and Janet's near-tears as she watched me just smile and move around on stage, but still… Two years as a near-Walsh third child, and I knew I had people in my corner. But that didn't account for the first fifteen, when I didn't even have my own support or faith sometimes. I loved the spotlight on a smaller scale, like attention from my foster family (even the negative kind, as long as I could tell they still cared about me through it all), or from some of the farm hands when boredom got the better of me, but a population of so many hundreds of millions I'm not even sure the full number? A little bit out of my ballpark.

"So are you guys excited?" Aspen asks, clutching her wrist a bit nervously, wincing as she chaffed her palm on the onyx of her bracelet. She bites her bottom lip nervously, as if she had something to worry about. But I remember (albeit jealously) how much the people seemed to love her. Aspen was a clear people person, and there was no doubt in my mind she'd crush it tonight while most of the rest of us sat their floundering. Her perfect side swept curls made me seethe, and the beautiful nighttime sunset ombré of her skirt caused me to feel inadequate. I looked around, but the other girls didn't seem to match my jealousy. Or at least, they didn't show it.

"I certainly am," Mahalia bubbles, pale yellow and intricately embellished flowers in her dress matching her jubilance.

"Well, someone's had their happy pills this afternoon." I joke, trying to pick up some of her excitement.

"Oh, you know." She rolls her eyes playfully and laughs along as the group of us walk.

"I'm feeling a little tired, actually." Lea admits. "I had a terrible night sleep, last night."

"I'd snap out of it, if I were you." Audrey reprimands. Aspen and I look at her a bit funny, not sure how sarcastic she was being. She remained expressionless, but didn't talk again until we all split up, back in the Women's Room.

Girls sit in clumps around the room, in cliques that had been formed since our first meal together. Not so rigid, exactly, but I wasn't used to talking to many people here besides my maids, Prince Cameron (and at that, barely), Avery, and my friends. This was okay with me, of course, but I knew I needed to talk to my family soon enough as well. I promised to write a bunch, but there wasn't time.

The only thing out of the ordinary in this room was that Queen Nadia and Princess Cassiopeia were nowhere to be found. Usually each of the female royals sat in their corner, basking in their excellence like they probably deserved to. Sometimes they would casually strike up a conversation with a Selected near by, but that was rare. I considered that they'd probably try to get to know us better once Cameron had narrowed down his girls a bit, but then again, he had eliminated plenty of us already. Maybe they were waiting till the Elite.

Princess Elena is all alone, not in her corner, but by a group of three of the Selected: Thera, Waverly, and Delilah. They seemed to get along fine, but it was somewhat weird for a royal to be talking to any of us. Even if it wasn't me. Princess Cassiopeia and Queen Nadia were both nowhere to be found. But as long as they were there for the _Report_ , I didn't think it mattered much, even if it was mysterious as to why they were missing.

I join my friends on one of the couches by the window, where sunlight streams in to bounce off of Harper's blonde, bouncy ponytail and lighten the green in Raven's eyes. The two converse while Cat sits close, listening casually.

"Ahhhh there's our tiger!" Raven smiles sarcastically as I walk over. She fiddles with her sweeping skirt in black: the only color I had seen the girl wear so far in the competition. But it suited her, I always thought. Raven may look to be 'damaged' or whatever, but she's always been sparkly to me. Like Edward Cullen, maybe.

"Missed me?"

"Always." Harper sings, smiling charmingly. She was good at the whole 'charming' thing, when she wasn't too busy being very eerily distant.

"Aw how sweet."

"Well, you know me." Harper goes back to playing with the vase of flowers on the little stand next to her chair, taking a second to look at the palace's driveway as if it was a crashing ocean or the rolling hills of Ireland. I think that would be nice, anyway. If I had to pick anywhere to escape, before my live death on television, I'd like somewhere with an ocean. Or the rolling hills of some quaint European city. Or maybe both. I think anywhere in the Britain Sub-Colonies could probably offer me both…

Conversation slows to a chatter, then to silence, as Avery Caxton walks into the room. Dressed in the same black pencil skirt, white blouse, and neat bun as she did this morning, her appearance catches me off guard. For some reason, I think I expected her to be dressed up and ready to come on stage with us. But instead, she informs us that she'll be directly on the sidelines, watching closely no doubt.

With that, however, we collectively realize that it's time to go. Avery tells us very specifically not to curtsey for Brenan as we step up for our interviews, and not to over share. Over-animation, under-animation, drowsiness, rushed speaking, and mumbling should be minded, and avoided at all costs. I try to keep it all retained in my brain, but I have a rather unfortunate habit of taking the information Avery gives me and accidentally pushing it out the other ear.

"Do we need some powwow or something?" Harper suggests, looking for Raven. She was superstitious, as all of us had gathered, and if she thought we needed it, we had to jam one in fast.

"I think we're okay." She replies with an eye roll. She was very particular about her superstitions. We were just beginning to figure them out, but they were obviously things Raven had been thinking for years, if not all her life.

"Just checking."

A short walk to a basement near the staircase made for a quick journey. We still had fifteen minutes until the _Report_ started, and we all waited in anticipation. Avery ushered us all to our seats on a row of risers. She arranged us alphabetically by province, which I supposed made sense, although I was disappointed to be near people I had barely talked to. I found, however, that Lea was surprisingly chill (and assured me she had recovered from her drowsiness from before), and Waverly was very sweet, so I figured things could be worse.

Princess Elena got her own white bubble chair, and waited a few minutes while her family, one by one, took their seats as well. I watched, with probably all remaining Selection members, as Prince Cameron (who I was still angry at because he blew off our date this afternoon, but not _so_ angry), dashed up in a light grey and white suit with black loafers, strutted to his own seat.

As Brenan walked on stage, and shook hands with each of the royals, I realized (in fact, I almost physically gasp) that we were on live in a probably less than a minute. It was hard to move; hard to breath, but I never felt more alive at all before this moment.

…

 _Lady Ember Saffron_

We were getting close to show time, and I knew the seconds were ticking down. My foot was sleep. And my nose was a little itchy. But I certainly wasn't doing the worst of all the girls, even just the ones immediately around me. Cat wouldn't stop scratching herself, Ivy was taking rather rapid breaths in attempts to calm down, and Pepper looked like the walking dead. I tried to say something; help the girls if I could. It wasn't like I was perfect in this situation, but it wasn't like I wanted the rest of them to look bad.

"Uh.. hey Pepper? Maybe smile? You look like you're going to a funeral and we're about to be on TV!" I try to sound excited and funny, as to not scare her, but the poor girl (in either charcoal or black designer, it was hard to say, with expensive earrings, beautiful blonde curls pushed over her shoulder, and nice matte lipstick. She looked just as stunning as she always did, but she acted as if she was about to go on national television with her front teeth missing and mascara running down her cheeks. She went everywhere like that, it seemed like, but it wasn't as if I typically payed much attention) looked like she was about to cry.

Brenan Gavin straightened his tie and touched his hair, was handed a handheld mic from a stagehand, and straightened his posture. Someone offstage called a quick countdown, and I immediately relax into a bright smile. _TV… I'm all of a sudden on live TV._ How exciting. How… _fricking_ exciting. And a little nauseating.

I wore a smile to mask my need to throw up. It worked out pretty well for me.

"Good Evening Illéa, glad to have you here on this Friday's segment of the _Illéa Capital Report_." Brenan begins with confident ease. "Before we speak with the Selected, as I'm sure the majority of us are all here to see, we have a few announcements from the Advisors." I let myself check out, and run in my head Avery's advice for today. And also Drew's advice. She had the most natural stage presence of anyone I'd ever met and besides, I figured long ago that the royals wouldn't _really_ tell us, if something was wrong. What would I care if they said something, if I knew in the back of my mind how many things went on behind closed doors?

Scruffy men in tweed suits and 1980s style creases in their pants take residence at a podium by the side of the stage, adjacent to where the rest of the Selected and I were sitting. They pull out crinkly papers from their pockets, where they had probably haphazardly thrown them earlier in the morning, and dried sweaty palms off on their pants.

Now there was a man or two (or probably all of them) that I could have schmoozed into giving me poor Gino's bail.

The day I signed up for the Selection, and a few of us went down to bail him out, we weren't allowed through the door. The price of bail is a lot more expensive than we thought it would be, especially because Gino "failed to fulfill his court-mandated service" or something he was supposed to do around some park a long time ago. And so, as if I wanted another reason to need so desperately to be Selected, my friend was still squatting in the slammer.

Thank goodness for me, they literally pay us weekly to be here. More money at once than I've ever made in my whole life. I hoped my boys were eating as rich tonight as I did now at every meal. I've always thought we were one in the same, me and them.

Despite my maids' initial protests, I wear our gang's signature red bandana on my wrist, instead of the bracelet they originally picked out for me. It didn't exactly go of the theme of dark and brooding, as my black velvet dress seemed to suggest, but I've refused to take it off so far.

After the Advisors talk for a few minutes, Brenan resumes the stage.

"Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen. Our beautiful Selected girls, only nineteen of who are remaining, have been at the palace now for the past two weeks. They've had a chance to get acquainted with the staff, each other, the royals, and the man of the hour. Prince Cameron, could you come down and speak with us for a second?" Prince Cameron joins him at the front of the stage, unsurprised by not happy about it, clearly.

"Your Highness, what can you disclose so far about how the Selection has been going for you? Are we any closer to finding our beloved queen in from the pool of girls behind us?" They both look back, as if to examine each of us. The audience chuckles, and I wave to them because _why not_? I'd like to be the charming one.

"Well, there are certainly a few girls I've taken a particular liking to." Prince Cameron admits, almost a whisper of smile on his face but not quite. I can hear some girls besides me take in sharp breaths, but I'm not sure why. It wasn't like he was about to marry one of them just like that or anything.

"Ahhh really! Care to disclose any names?" 

"Oh, I don't feel that'd be fair of me." Brenan laughs at Prince Cameron's rather un-funny remark. "I haven't been very subtle, thus far, by eliminating girls very quickly who I found a lack of interest in."

"Ah, yes, and you've been very controversial because of your mass eliminations… Could you tell us a little bit about what you were thinking as you sent home these girls?"

"I decided, when I had to start preparing for my Selection-"

"Emotionally of physically?" Brenan interrupts with a smile and laugh, prompting the audience to do the same.

"Well… mostly emotionally, but I suppose both." Prince Cameron tries to get back on track, almost clearly trying to hide some of his annoyance. "Anyways, I decided a long time ago that I would be very upfront and liberal with my eliminations. I don't want to waste my time on a relationship that will never work: I want to find my wife as quick as I can so we can spend the rest of our lives together." The audience coos and primes, but I feel like gagging. Prince _Cameron_ as an emotional sap? Is this the same prince that eliminated thirteen girls on their second day here?

"How incredibly romantic." Brenan rouses applause form the audience. "Anyways, I think we're going to let you back in your seat now so we can start meeting some of those lovely girls you were talking about earlier!" Prince Cameron nods, in his solemn, brooding way, and goes back to join his family. "Lady Raven Cortez, could you join us on stage?"

From almost the entire other side of the stage, Raven gets up and is the first of any of us to meet Brenan Gavin, with her practically trademarked smirk. She's full of sarcastic wit and sass, in her interview, with a sort of casualness that has to come naturally for her. Brenan seems to find her hilarious and charming, and the night is official kicked off on the right foot.

A lot of the other girls go, some charming and relaxed, and others rather shy (ahh Pepper, what'll we do with you?), and by the time it's my turn, I feel prepared enough as it is.

I pick up my black skirt as I walk around the other girls in order to get to the front of the stage. I shake Brenan Gavin's hand and take a seat next to him, smiling as wide as I possibly can.

"Lady Emberly Saffron, you look stunning this evening." Brenan smiles his easy smile that I've seen so many times. His arms relax on the sides of his chair, sporting a blue blazer and matching pants.

"Thank you," I reply politely.

"If I may ask, why the bandana?" I must noticeably brighten, but Brenan looks just as inquisitive as if this would be a ground breaking revelation. "It doesn't exactly fit in, if you don't mind me saying, with the black of, say, your dress."

"I don't mind at all!" I clasp my crossed knees and play with the knot tied around my wrist. "It's just something from back home." I smile wide. I can practically hear the hollers from the boys back home. Ah, how proper! A good noble lady like myself wearing a freaking _gang sign_ on nationally broadcasted TV. I almost want to laugh as well, picturing them dying by some busted, broken down TV, straining to get a good shot of me.

"Oh really? Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself, before the Selection?"

"Well, back in Likely, I was just Ember. Or, sometimes Emmy. My… _brothers_ … had all sorts of nicknames for me, some of which I liked more than others…" Brenan laughs. "But anyways, I was just Ember. No one necessarily special. Home was a little bit cramped, but we all grew incredibly close as a family. I'm a tattoo artist by trade, but I loved painting and drawing as well."

"Are you part of a big family?"

"Oh absolutely." I laugh, albeit a little bit nervously. "We never exactly had much, but we made do."

"I see. Were they all supportive of your choice in signing up for the Selection?"

"Well, there were mixed reactions. Of course some of them couldn't be more supportive, and even encouraged me to join. But you must know how brothers can be: they've always been protective of me, so I think some of them teased me about it so they could get me to stay. Or maybe just for the sake of teasing me about it, I guess it's hard to be too sure." I laugh. _Lady Ember,_ they taunted, _the Selected Daughter of Illéa from the province Likely._ And now look at exactly what happened.

"Well, as someone who's the youngest of four boys, I certainly know what you mean." Brenan laughs, and I beam in response. "So how would you compare your life back at home to your life here, at the palace?"

"Oh, well, it really is such a luxury being here." I respond. "I mean, as I said before, we didn't always get to eat at every meal back home, and we all shared the same bedroom, and, you know, stuff like that. Here, I'm treated like I'm already royalty. The level of comfort they make sure I have here has made me so grateful. Everyone here is so kind, and in general, it's been very nice."

"So how would you say things have been different, people wise? Have you been able to formulate relationships like you used to have back home?"

"Well, not quite in the same way, but of course I've made a lot of really close friends. I'm so thankful to have them here with me while we all go through this together."

"I'm glad you feel that way. Keep them close." Brenan clasps his hands with mine quickly. "It was very nice to meet you, young lady, you can return to your seat." I oblige with a bright smile, and wave toward the camera again. My handkerchief loosens a little bit, an falls around my elbow, but I fix it quickly as I walk back to my own seat.

 _Hope you enjoyed the show, boys. I miss you a lot._

…

 _Lady Aspen Marx_

Both my dress and current emotions are an aurora. Yes, bright and beautiful, but also shifting every four and a half seconds. Maybe that's a bad analogy. But in my mind I think it makes sense.

What doesn't make sense? Why does everyone have to be more interesting than me? That's not quite fair, now is it? Maybe I shouldn't be talking about fairness. I know it's not my place to decide that. But at the same time, it's hard not to be a little anxious to be on stage (in front of millions, mind you) when I have yet to do much of interest yet. Except, of course, joining the Selection. But in that regard, we're all in the same boat.

With sweaty palms and chafed wrists, I try to let my nervous energy fall away with an aurora of a smile. How stupid. I'm smart enough to know it doesn't work that way.

"Lady Aspen, how are you on this fine evening?" Brenan asks me, his blue eyes shining. It's as if maybe he's trying to infuse some of his sparkliness into me. For some reason, I always thought he had dark eyes. I was wrong. I'd like to think though, at the very least, he doesn't want me to fail. But more than that, _I_ don't want me to fail.

"I'm good, thanks for asking." I smile easy, trying to reciprocate Brenan's friendliness. _Friendly and sparkly… can I have some of that?_

I try not to think of Chandler's steely glare against the TV as she watches me, seething. Or of Blanca's transparent laughter in the privacy of her studio apartment. I know that she is. That she's laughing. My sisters always adored watching me flounder. It happened a lot. Or- maybe _a lot_ is an exaggeration, but it happened enough to where I know I can expect it. Now isn't that just pathetic?

"In the very first interview we ever had with you –the one taking place after your makeover was finished, as it was broadcasted on last week's _Report_ \- you expressed your very clear excitement to meeting His Highness, Prince Cameron. You seemed to hold him in a very high esteem. How are you feeling now?"

"Well, my opinions have hardly changed." I blush and laugh quietly. "I mean, I guess we've only had our five-minute interview together, but… still. Even though I haven't gotten a date yet, I'm feeling really happy, being here. Just knowing I have the chance to love someone like him… Well, it must make me amongst the luckiest girls on Earth." The audience coos. "I look forward, of course, to knowing him a lot better, but I doubt I'll be disappointed."

"That's wonderful, Lady Aspen. I'm sure he would be lucky to have you." Brenan smiles genuinely. "I wonder, however, what are your opinions about his abrupt eliminations. I know that for some of the public, this has been very controversial. What do you think about it?"

 _What did I think about it?_ A lot of my friends seemed to think it was hasty, and reckless. _Was it_ hasty and reckless? I mean… He did know each of those _thirteen_ girls for only five minutes. How could he have been so sure about them so quickly? Then again… How could he have been so sure about _me_ so quickly?

"Well, I think it's good how decisive he's being, actually." I say, once I'm sure I've made up my mind. This isn't the time to question his logic. I'm _pretty sure_ there had to have been logic behind his eliminations. "It sort of lets us know, all of us who are still here competing, that he doesn't want to fool around. You can tell that His Highness is looking for an actual, serious commitment. Or, I mean, of course he is… He is picking the country's new _Queen_ , after all… But being here to compete means to me that I'm not wasting my time with someone who isn't as serious about the relationship as I am. And I say, thank goodness for that." I laugh in a sort of relieved way, glad I was able to finish my rant without sounding absolutely crazy. _Or wait… do I sound crazy?_

"Well put." Brenan nods his head, as if signifying his respect for my words. I think I'd stand by those words. I meant every one.

"Well, it was certainly nice to meet you, Lady Aspen, and hear your input. You may return to your seat, thank you." I smile quickly and do as told.

The rest of _The Report_ is somewhat of a blur. I pay attention to the other girls interviews, but I allow my mind to be a little bit distracted. I mean, good _God_ that was my first ever interview on live television!

I can only imagine the fast-paced thoughts racing through the minds of the other Selected, in the same way they're racing through mine. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my temples are absolutely throbbing. My mind swims, leaving me a little loopy, but alert enough to recognize (and smile and wave in response) when Brenan begins to close down this Friday's _Report._ God, what a rush.

Not immediately sobered, Ivy flocks quickly and begins to ask about her interviews. My shy little friend shined on stage, and I tell her as such. She doesn't seem to believe me. She asks about it for a few minutes. I try to comfort her generically, but in truth, I'm not paying much attention to pretty much anything at all.

Avery releases us to the privacy of our rooms, saying that we're allowed to take dinner alone. Take some peace, and maybe a second to recover from the stress. I began to take increasing notice of the fact that each of us –possibly excluding Ivy- were so… regular. Not to say it in a distasteful way, just all of the girls who were used to fame were already gone. Serena, Manhattan, both reasonably famous performers, were no longer here to help, for examples. Collectively, I think we did fine without them, but then again I can't say that subjectively.

I change into pajamas (a beautiful cream satin nightdress and thick grey robe, with my favorite, brand new fuzzy slippers), throw my hair up, and remove my makeup. Bailey gets on the phone quickly to order me dinner from the kitchens, and I sit and read lazily while I wait for it to be ready. Page flips accompany breathy sighs and absentminded thoughts… pearly trails of brainlessness.

It's hard to think much at all.

In somewhat of a haze, I eat my dinner, brush my teeth and wash my face, read a little more, tell my maids good night, and shut off my lamp. Without so much of a second thought, I fall into a mindless trance of sleep.

It's hard to maintain my mindlessness when the sirens go off a few hours later. In fact, I wind up thinking everything at once. The most pressing of which: _someone's attacking._

Today I went on live. Will I still be going on living tomorrow? My chances are shifting like the colors of the aurora. Like my nerves, like my dress: inconsistent.

 **Ahhhhhhhh I like my cliffhangers. If that so much counts. Whoops.**

 **Make sure you tell me what you think, and if you haven't told me some ideas for your character tag, do that too! Remember to review!**

 **Love you all!**

 **xx. Scarlett**


	17. Adrenaline and Chaos, and New Friends

When the world went to chaos, I was disappointed to find that adrenaline didn't kick in until I was almost already in the safe room.

I didn't need my maids too wake me, of course, because the sirens were plenty loud enough for that, but they busted into my room anyway. One was still in her uniform while the other two wore pajamas, but nothing seemed to inhibit their haste as the three practically ripped the sheets off me. Gone were their private, polite demeanors, and tranquil faces: replaced by bright eyes lit with panic, and rushed movements. Justified, of course. They didn't blatantly voice their stress, but their bodies spoke to me thousands of words. _This could not be a drill. This room, this entire palace, was no longer safe._

But their panic somehow calmed me.

It was this inexplicable sort of a non-feeling that forced me into my bathrobe and slippers, and out into the chaos of a hallway of pure stills. Though not practical in any way, it was nice to have something warm on my feet, and my arms. If anything, I'd guess that the agreed upon Safe Room was less than cozy.

Girls rushed from rooms like racehorses pounding down their designated dirt tracks: teams of maids acting as jockeys and forcing them forward. I watch as Drew, shoeless, sped down the hallway, with Lea desperate to cling on as she's dragged away by her friend's outstretched hand. Raven, taking charge, ushered at least five girls in front of her and struggled to push them quicker to our haven. Avery tried to frantically shout commands, although bolting several feet in front of us, I could barely even make out our Safe Room's location: _two floors down, underneath the stairs._

In a dizzying race to reach our destination, while trying to keep my eyes peeled for my friends, not lose a slipper, and try not to get trampled, I was able to connect the dots. But only just barely.

No one could hear anyone over each others' voices. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't think. I felt tired, sick to my stomach with dread, and to try to approximate how the other girls felt in that moment would be absolutely futile, and entirely wrong to even attempt. It was hard even to decide what I was feeling right then. Tired? Of course. But alert? Numb? Panicked? Or… curious? Am I feeling scared? Probably. But I haven't been able to tell so far.

We scuff down the stairs in a jumbled mess, each girl nearly tripping over the one in front of them but catching themselves just in time. I think I nearly fall once, but a couple girls try to grab my arms before I'm trampled down the staircase and too mangled to make it to safety. Is that what would happen? I suppose it's too hard to tell. I can't quite say who my saviors were, or even how many. I catch flashes of colorless skin, lengthless hair, inaudible voices… I want to thank them but can't quite reach the words.

When we make it to the base of the stairs, it's a very short span of time before we hear the engine. I'm not quite to the door of the Safe Room, but stop dead in my tracks. Adrenaline has at last kicked in and I experience everything at once.

I can make out that only about a sixth of us are inside the shelter already, making their way, single file, down the supposedly concrete (by the sound their feet are making) steps. The palace seems still and uninterrupted. It's only the Selected, as far as I can see. I think Avery might have made it ahead of us, and I reckon she's already down the stairs, coolly leading a pack of girls to safety. But as for the maids, the guards, and the rest of the workers? They seemed to have left us alone: I have no idea where they are. The air is still and humid with so many sweaty girls pushed up so close together, and I find myself gasping for breath. With each haggard inhalation, my lungs wheeze. I can hear tears dripping down faces and onto the marble floors while we wait our turn into descent, and unsteady breathing, and the mumbles of prayers from some. And… that rush. A plane, or maybe a jet, all the way over the noise of the sirens. Slowly and steadily… Getting louder and louder and-

I'm shoved down the stairs, Natalyn in front of me and Adriana, being the source of the push, at my rear. I'm near the base, descended into the clear ground, when I feel it. There's a singular rush, and the entire basement rattles. Someone from behind me screams, and I hear a near voice hyperventilating. I know it's not me, because I've stopped breathing all together.

"Hurry up!" Delilah screams, desperation obvious in her voice.

I try my best not to stall, forcing the line in front of me down the stairs faster than I was going, and trying to make sure that the last girl could close the staircase's door before the aircrafts could circle back around and maybe even strike. It's difficult, but there's overwhelming relief when we're all safely locked into the room. Someone lays flat against the door and pants, and the rest of us try to steady our feet from falling out from under us. I grip my head and shakily stumble into an opposing wall. I feel my feet sink, and I allow myself rest.

I keep my eyes open, and watch girls scramble amongst each other, looking for friends and nice places to sit. I notice that most of us have taken refuge by one of the sturdy, plastered walls. Not the most tasteful of rooms, but if it could keep us safe…

The royals are off in a corner, conversing wildly. I feel as if I can almost make out what they're saying, but Ivy finds me quickly and collapses next to me, looking too tired to cry, but maybe just about to.

She takes a very deep breath. "I've been here before," she told me, legs curled into her side while she looked around.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes," I confirm, "without proper lighting, terrible smell. This is where you went after the first _Report_ , right? When you went looking for the bathroom."

"Yeah. Good memory." Ivy sniffles at the dankness. I have to agree that the smell isn't the nicest, but it's tolerable, at the very least. I want to throw up, but for entirely separate reasons.

Noise in the room slows to a stop, as none of us know what to do. King Adrian stands from his spot against the west wall, sandwiched in between the rest of his family, and clears his throat to grab everyone's attention. As if he didn't have all eyes upon simply standing up. It wasn't exactly like any of us had anything more important to focus on.

"Ladies, I am so sorry for the trouble, and the panic I'm sure many of you are feeling. I'd like to ease your confusion and doubts of your safety, but I can't completely, I know.

"We do not have very much information about this event. We do know that this is not a drill, but to our knowledge, no open fire or explosives been dropped on the palace or anywhere else in the country. The aircrafts some of you may have heard flying overhead are currently unidentified. We will remain here in the Safe Room until further notice. Should the situation turn dire, we will all exit via a concealed door that the family and I will grant everyone access to. This room will only be occupied, however, should we have a reasonable suspicion that nuclear weaponry will be unleashed on the palace. In this case, we find it unlikely, but not impossible."

Nervous chattering comes immediately from the group. I feel my own heart seize, and Ivy's head is in her hands as she mumbles something unintelligible.

"This is not to scare you." King Adrian assures us. "Myself and my family would like you each to feel more secure, and we agreed it would be best for you to have all available information we have. We'll update you all if we hear anything, ourselves."

Queen Nadia pulls her husband's hand down and whispers something in his ear. The King nods.

"Additionally, Prince Cameron will be making rounds and talking with each of you. Any questions you may have will be directed to him." I watch him as Ivy nods out of the corner of my eye. Autonomically, I feel myself do the same, and my insides warm. How I can manage to be excited when the situation is so scary is beyond me. But this is the first time we've talked since our interview, Prince Cameron and I. I'm looking forward to it: sue me.

"What do you think he'll want to talk to us about?" Ivy asks me, as quiet conversation overcrowds the room once again. "You don't think it's going to be, like, a second interview, right?"

"No, I don't think so." I tell her, keeping a carefully trained eye on Prince Cameron, as he makes his way to the first girl: a softly sobbing Mahalia. "Probably he'll just ask us if we're doing alright, things like that."

"Yeah, probably. Do you think some girls are going to ask to go home, though?" _Is it so terrible that I pray to God some will?_

I take a second to think through everyone who remains. Would they really sacrifice the journey for this? That would be the sensible option, I suppose… "Would you?"

"Oh god no!" Ivy pales and splutters. "Why, would you?" I can almost hear the hope creep into her voice, though she might try to hide it. I can't judge her for it, though. I'd be lying if I didn't want a few girls going home after today. I don't know how many would even want to leave, but it would make it easier. And Ivy? Prince Cameron seemed to like her. I wanted my friend to say, no doubt about it, but on the other hand, I could still be friends with her outside of the palace. And only one of us could have Prince Cameron.

"No, no of course not." I assure her. To her credit, Ivy smiles wide. I don't hear any sarcasm in her voice when she tells me, "Thank God, I don't know what I'd do if you left." I can't help but laugh in relief.

"Honestly, same." I squeeze her balled up fist and smile. "Hey, where do you think Giselle and Evie are?"

Ivy looks confused, and we take a second to scan the walls. "I think I see Evie over by Ember… And I think Lea. And Drew."

"And Giselle?"

"Haven't found her yet, but I don't really think we should be nervous or anything." She cranes her delicate neck to keep looking. "Oh! There she is, over by Thera and Clio."

"Alright, so everyone's safe and everyone's accounted for."

"Well, out of the four of us, yes." Ivy looks more than relived.

"Hey, do you think I have time to take a nap before Prince Cameron comes over?" I joke. Ivy looks unsure, seemingly weighing my options for me.

"Knock yourself out. I'll wake you when he comes!"

"No-no, I wasn't serious." I laugh. My friend looks confused. "I-"

"Ladies?" Our conversation is cut off as Cameron awkwardly leaning over the two of us. I see Ivy's mouth pop open. "Sorry-would you mind waiting a minute to go to sleep? I'd like to talk to the two of you, if it's okay."

"Um." I'm at a loss for words. "Yeah, of course. Sorry."

"It's fine." He mumbles, sitting on the ground in front of us, legs criss crossed. "So how are you two feeling?"

"A little freaked out," I admit, looking to Ivy. She's completely frozen. I nod on her behalf. I'm not sure if it came off that way, but that's what I intended, at least. "Honestly, it's just the not knowing. It's all just so… ambiguous, as of now. Have you guys heard anything new yet?"

"Nothing new." He says, shaking his head. "I wish we knew anything, or even had anything to hide from you, but we don't. I feel the same way: I'm honestly just as scared as I'm sure you ladies are."

 _Not if his eyes were any indication._ No, I didn't see the same downturned eyebrows in Prince Cameron, or a new vulnerability to the green of his irises. And up so close to him… Well, it was a lot easier to tell. But anyone who has any sort of a basis in body language could tell that the Prince wasn't so terrified, as he made himself out to be. I observed no hunched posture, fidgeting, or obscure hand tics. He wasn't scared at all.

And if nothing else, I was relieved. If he wasn't scared I wouldn't be either.

The storm inside me stilled.

"So how much longer do you think we'll be stuck down here?" I ask, looking around.

"Hard to say. It depends on whether or not someone… well, attacks." I hear Ivy suck in a breath, the first sound she's made since he's come to talk to us. Prince Cameron's and my head snap to her, and she looks like shrinking into her robe like a turtle. I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. If she wants to say something, this is her opportunity.

She remains mute. I decide to recover the silence.

"Are we going to war?" I ask hesitantly, praying that his answer will be no. _We can't have a war. Especially not a bad one._ Not while I have two brothers who are at just the right age to be drafted… One with an infant son, and the other with a brand new job he loves.

"We don't know." Screw security. I feel my stomach drop to my knees, and mouth pop open but no breath escapes my chapped lips. "We're still neutral for the time being, and would love to stay that way. But if this turns into an attack, I'd have no doubt that would change quickly. It most likely depends on this event right now."

Ivy mumbles something, out of her state of shock.

"What was that?" I ask her, an invitation to speak up.

"Say your prayers, I said." She tells us. Prince Cameron nods, and I squeeze her hand again.

"Well, I think I'll leave you ladies, let you have your patiently waited for rest, Lady Aspen. If either of you need anything at all, please come up and talk to me. If we find anything out you'll be the first to know."

I nod my head as I watch him stand up. "Thank you," I manage to choke out.

As Prince Cameron moves to the next little clump of girls, I crumble.

I'm knocked absolutely breathless.

"War," I gasp, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. I look up to Ivy's vacant face. "War."

"War." She agrees.

"I can't-" _How even to find the words…_ "We can't have a war!" Ivy shakes her head and stares sadly at her lap. "Ivy, I have brothers! Oh my god we can't- We-"

It's my friend's turn to grab my hands, and she holds my face still as I choke on my own tears. "Aspen. I promise you. We're going to make it through. Nothing has happened yet. Nothing has even… happened." I nod and squeeze my eyes shut. "You're going to be okay."

…

 _Princess Cassia Havillard_

I was pretty sure we're all going to die.

It's impossible to confirm, but it's coming. We built the bomb shelter for a reason, after all.

 _This stupid Selection. The stupid timing. Endangering over a dozen innocent girls. Yes, the best if ideas at the best of times._ I'm so happy Illéa is run by someone as traditional as my father. I'm sure it'll make our funerals unforgettable, all his rigid traditions.

 _We're all going to die._

If Cameron got his tradition, and I didn't get mine, I think I'd kill him before the bombers could even get ahold of him. I know he didn't want any of this. He honestly couldn't seem any less interested, half-heartedly conversing with a series of petrified girls he had no idea what to do with.

Me, though? I'd like to find love.

Maybe unrealistic, living in my world, but the anticipation for my own Selection made me shiver. I wanted that. Not necessarily what my parents have. I want my own chance to be them but not screw it up. I just wanted the opportunity of it. To immerse myself with romance and laughter and all that. I don't know if that seems sappy: it does in my head, but it's not how I want to sound. I don't want love in the naïve way I think my parents went about it. I want a real relationship: a real love.

But in the spirit of an acute lack of naiveté, it's impossible to even pretend like this is an option for me.

I really _really_ don't want to die.

No one wants to die. Well, maybe if you're suffering. And I know that sometimes I can be ungrateful, and act like I have no perspective, but I do. I understand. I know that I'm very fortunate. I get to live in a beautiful palace and eat good food. But more importantly, I have a warm home and a family. I have options. I may not get everything in the world, but I'm far from deprived or suffering. I do not want to die.

I don't want to get abducted either. No one wants to get abducted. Not me, not my siblings, and not the maids.

 _Oh my goodness the maids._ To be quite honest, I can only imagine the kind of suffering poor Eva Pal must be going through.

As the _Illéan_ Monarchs, we have a very specific duty to protect our staff. They have their own Safe Rooms, their own bomb shelters, their own bedrooms and closets, and they can even pick one day a week off their schedule to have to themselves. We are not inhumane to our workers. It is our _job_ to _protect_ them. But fifteen days ago, we failed in that regard.

I have never personally met Eva. I might have seen her passing in the hall once or twice, but it's impossible to remember, through all these years. I've seen her picture, and she looks familiar, but she has a familiar sort of a face. Mousy, pale brown hair infused with soft clay, and downturned, wide brown eyes. Her skin is pale, and she has a soft sort of a square of a jawline, with a dimple on her upper cheek, near her right eye, when she smiles. She's at about an average height, average weight, and she's somewhere from age 17-23. Her poor father, Andres, bless his heart, says he can't remember. It was her mother Carmen, he said, who remembered that stuff, but she died a few autumns ago. He has now lost his wife, and lost his only daughter. Andres Pal was going out of his mind.

The investigation took all damn morning. Every precaution, of course, is worth it to find this poor girl, but I figured the ladies would start to get suspicious. Someone of them seemed like naturally, genuinely intelligent women. Many of whom, by the way, my brother should be a lot more excited to be with than he seemed to be. Those girls deserved better than him.

Damn tangents, sorry. _Damn Cameron…_

Eva Pal is missing. We need to find her. We've got teams out, and investigators scouring the bathrooms and maids' quarters. I thought it was a bit excessive at first, but that's because I guess I wasn't fully aware of the situation.

There was a break in. In the palace, legitimately, about seven steps from the Women's Room. If that were some sort of a terrorist? There could have been a massacre. They could have easily just stumbled into that room and killed every single Selected there. It was during the screening of the first _Report_ that the women were here for; they were all vulnerable, and could have been cut down in seconds. Imagine the _catastrophe_.

In truth, I was becoming more scared as they days went on. I was worried when I first found out about the conflict, which escalated to concerned when discovering our "little international spats" with Vietnam -a sworn ally of India- and slightly panicked about New Asia (still undecided, but dangerously close to siding with the others).

My parents now found it hard to conceal. My father looked constantly weary, and my mother had started muttering to herself again. As if letting your mind wander into No Man's Land wasn't scary enough, having silent, paranoid-confirmation from the nation's pillars was downright terrifying. Just a thought, but if my parents thought there was any chance we were all going to die, we probably would.

 _I do not want to die._

I look to the girls around the room. I hadn't really met the majority yet. Sure, a few hung around me, Elena, and mom in the Women's Room, but not so many of them dared. Not that I blamed them. I suppose we could be an intimidating bunch. Mom even specifically said she didn't want to meet the girls yet; she thought it would be useless to meet so many new people who aren't going to be of any importance to her soon enough. If she could just know who the winner will be, and get to know her, I think she'd prefer it. I wanted to talk to some of them, but I didn't want to get attached, either.

It especially killed Elena. She wanted to meet them _bad_.

I watch my sister as she looks wistfully at the Selected. She sits to my left, fiddling with her own fingers and anxiously tapping her toes.

 _If she wanted to meet the Selected,_ I decided, _it could be a last wish I would grant her_.

"I'm going to go talk to some of the Selected." I announce boldly, finally standing up again on wobbly stilts of legs. I look to Elena quickly and nod in the direction of some of the other girls, and walk away, even though my mother hisses my name and demands that I come back to where I was sitting.

I look around the room, choosing my first girl. Elena, I've noticed, as picked a small group of three, who hold their hands outstretched in a warm sort of an invitation.

I spot only a few people sitting by themselves. One of which is a pretty New Asian girl, with perfect skin and flowing brown hair. Her name is Lady Natalyn, for that I'm almost sure. Dressed in a flowering red kimono, Lady Natalyn had her bare legs tucked neatly toward her abdomen, and she gave me a wide, friendly smile as I sat down to talk to her. She nodded her head as supposed to bowing, which I thought was perfectly fine. All these new girls bowing to me felt stupid, and since they were only just trained in curtseying, they sometimes look a little stupid doing them.

"Good evening, Princess Cassiopeia."

"And same to you," I say with a smile. Then, jumping right to my most pressing question, I nonchalantly ask her, "So, Lady Natalyn, does the threat of possibly imminent death make you agree with me in saying that Cameron maybe just… isn't worth it?"

Natalyn's mouth is open, and her jaw moves up and down as if she was speaking, but no words come out. She manages to stutter a little bit, first staring holes through my eye sockets, then anywhere but at me. It seems as if I've stunned her.

"I was not at all prepared for that question," she says finally.

"Oh. Right, sorry. Kinda intense, I get that." She smiles again and nods at me, pretending to be more comfortable than she really is. I have officially made this situation uncomfortable. Whoops. "Well, I'll let you get thinking, then." I scuffle away awkwardly, trying not to look back and make eye contact. I can hear a few girls around her start to ask questions in small clumps, so I decide to desert that area.

Instead, I walk to the wall opposite to the one where I was with my family. Elena is with Lady Pepper, the only one on that particular wall who's alone, so I wander to a group of two. Lady Mahalia, whose carob skin is practically glistening, sits with her knees awkwardly pointing at the actively ranting Lady Raven. Raven's hair (with a hue to match the name) is thrown up in a very knotty, very frayed and very messy bun, and she's chewing gum furiously as I approach her. She wears a simple charcoal t-shirt with a New Asian symbol on it, and flannel shorts. Lady Mahalia, a rather stark contrast in a cream silk pajama set and thin white robe, clears her throat loudly to get Lady Raven to stop talking as she watches me approach. It's not before, however, I hear her talking about potentially strangling something.

A smile etches across my face. If no one else, this girl might agree with me.

"Hello Ladies." I smile wide and excited, sitting criss cross in front of the two.

Lady Mahalia addresses me as "Your Highness" and formerly asks me if I'd like her robe, which I inform her will be less than necessary. Lady Raven quickly spits her gum into a crumpled tissue, which she shoves into her pocket quickly and gives me a half-hearted grimace.

"Alright, so I've got to ask you both." I start, as the two girls wait patiently and for me. "If it was me, and I was in this competition, I swear to Whatever that I'd be _furious!_ Like, not to scare you, but we're probably gonna die, right? I don't know, actually. Also, I understand that it may be wrong to ask you not to be scared and then ask you if we're going to die. Honestly, if you're scared, you have every right. So that's why I'm curious, is this 'chance' with my brother really that important that you're willing to risk your lives?"

The ladies sit for a moment and consider.

"Is this your way of asking us to drop out?" Mahalia asks inquisitively.

"Well no of course not, that's not my place to tell you anything. I'm just _really_ trying hard to understand. I guess it's just because he's my brother and I hate him, but isn't Cameron –er- Prince Cameron kind of an insufferable little douche?"

Raven snorts. "Despite the fact that I didn't _really_ understand the risks, but I didn't come into this competition really knowing anything about you guys, especially not Prince Cameron, who you never hear about ever. I've been keeping a really open mind, and honestly he's not worse than any guy I've ever dated. Better, even, because at least he's polite. But honestly, I haven't had a date yet. I don't know whether or not that's a good thing, since he's eliminated the majority of girls he's gone on a date with, but I can't decide until then. So far, and I'm sorry for saying this, because I understand what you're saying about brothers, but he's not so bad at all."

"I think he's very nice." Mahalia adds politely, as if with a harrumph. "Well, not in the showering you with rose petals and pulling out all the stops to see you smile, affectionate kind of nice. But I say, give him time. Who knows what could happen if he falls in love with one of us. And in the mean time, I think the possibility is worth the wait."

"Alright, I get what you're saying… maybe." I respond. At least now it makes a bit more sense to me, even though it wasn't the answer I was looking for. "Y'know, I almost slept through the sirens last night."

"You did _not_." Raven challenges, while Mahalia snickers.

"I did. My maids had to wake me up and everything. Honestly, my snoring almost overpowered it I think." The two girls laugh.

Mahalia seems to think this was the best thing she had heard tonight. Raven had her own story, about being up anyways and literally herding five girls (of which she couldn't even remember who) down the hallway like a sheepdog. In their presence I immediately felt more relaxed, and by their easy smiles and laughing eyes, it was no time at all before we had forgotten where we were (and why we were there) in the first place.

No longer were we unequal. We weren't a one (a princess, at that), and whatever castes those two girls were. None of us even stopped to ask each other, and the unbreakable divide between our lives was shattered like a bomb against glass as we became quick friends.

Now, if no bomb could come in and shatter our lives, it might make a tranquil end to a worthy night.

 **I am so freaking sorry. Before anyone yells at me for not posting in FOREVER (which I do understand it has been sooooo so long since I've posted something), I've actually had the majority of this written for a good while. I took a short hiatus to work on some original things, but I'm glad to be back, at any rate!**

 **Cassia is back, by (somewhat) popular demand, and we even got to see a few girls I don't talk about that often in this chapter! I'm going to work on that. I don't at all mean to be only focusing on a handful of girls throughout this entire story.**

 **That being said, I have revoked all of the Main/Main Abbreviated/Supporting/Minor titles of the girls. I didn't really feel like that was fair, and so now it's gone. There were so many regrets because I didn't want a huge main cast, but I was afraid that a lot of them would get shafted by this so it's taken out now!**

 **In other news, The Unbreakables has finally gotten over a hundred reviews! Thank you so so much guys, your feedback and support means the absolute world to me!:)**

 **Remember to review!**

 **xoxo (and it's a long time coming)**

 **Scarlett**


End file.
